


To the Northern Lights

by otterbeans



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Bird/Human Hybrids, Body Horror, Centaurs, Dragon/Human Hybrids, Dragons, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kitsune, Lycanthropes, M/M, Other, Suicide Attempt, Werewolves, Wings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2018-07-11 00:30:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 43,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7015504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otterbeans/pseuds/otterbeans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>-Check tags for content warnings!-</p><p>After meeting by chance, two head north together to find their kin. This is the story of their journey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Otter, self-admitted trash, coming to you with the grossest, wildest, most self-indulgent AU one could ever conceive. Once again, I'll have to ask for your forgiveness. This is full on, 100%, not-canon, barely recognizable garbage. You're going to be in for a ride.
> 
> You'll notice a whole lot of hints as to what I'm doing here in the tags. While this chapter does not cover them all, I plan for all of them to be relevant in the fic in one way or another. So if you're into the stuff I'm listing up there, stick around. It'll come up eventually. I'll be adding characters to the tags as they appear in the story as well.
> 
> Also, anything that would require a trigger warning will be in the tags, so be sure to read them thoroughly: AND, yes, there will be mpreg, but I left it out of the tags as a sole exception to this rule to avoid kneejerks, because it is not a central theme. I have no idea when it will actually come up, but it will certainly be at least 20+ chapters in, and it's not what the story is about. It's a fantasy hybrid adventure, not a fetish fic. Please give it a chance despite any misgivings you might have!
> 
> This is a prologue, so it's a tad short. Expect further chapters to be longer.
> 
> This fic was heavily inspired by a roleplay done with [wadthehuntress](http://wadthehuntress.tumblr.com/). The dragon-hybrid species is one of her original creations; I've only made very slight alterations to her formula. Many thanks to her for allowing me to use her characters!

 Armin remembered a forest.

He remembered green. So many shades of it. The soft, dark grass in the shade, the bright shoots of fern that swayed gently in the dappled sunlight. Vines and trees that grew so incredibly tall, in intricate patterns, like the finest latticework. A verdant palace full of wonderful, sweet breezes, carrying the scent of flowers, the sound of gently flowing water. A temple of nature.

He remembered white. A shining white, which shimmered a gold like the sun at its highest peak in the sky. Soft feathers, and kind faces. Faces that all blended together. Not a single one can he name, but there was something there. An emotion? Belonging? Family? It was so warm, like an embrace. The warmth echoed on his sheets. Each morning he woke up to the sensation, quickly fading from the bed he sleeps upon. He ached for it to linger, but it always disappeared.

He had no blankets. Even if he did, they would not fit him. As he rose from curled position he rests in, wings that sprouted from his shoulders stretched so far their tips brush against the ceiling. They were white, with a smattering of iridescent gold that shimmered in the light, and the longest of his flight-feathers were tipped in pale blue.

They were the reason he was here, in this present that is so distant from his dreams. In this dark, wooden box, that was so rank with the stench of people. Not even the tiniest breeze slipped through the walls, and nary a finger of sunlight touched his skin, which resulted in a fine china complexion. The shape of his body was equally delicate, small and thin. There were windows in his house, but none faced the sky, only the sides of other buildings. He wasn't allowed to go through the doors that led outside, and he only saw glimpses of the world that he imagined existed as workers entered and exited the building. The little flashes of light that burst from those doors as they were opened and closed were nearly blinding.

He was intimate with every inch of this place, so intimate that he had begun to feel violated by it. It's all that he could remember when awake.

When he was young, he was merely kept. He had everything he needed, and did not know how to feel want. They taught him very certain things. First, how to sit, how to hold his head, how to keep his back straight. How he should look at others, how to use his eyes. Then, how to speak. What to speak about. When to be silent. Songs to sing from his perfect throat, poems for every season and occasion.

Every day, they practiced his dressing. His underclothes, the first robe, the second robe, the padding, the sashes. How to walk and move as to not disturb them. How to show off their splendor, a beautiful azure color made from the finest pigments, with long sleeves that reached down to the floor, patterned with feathers that gave the illusion of a second pair of wings. The embroidery met at his back, where his real wings sprouted, along with that of a beautiful bird that craned its long, delicate neck around his own. Its head rested just above his sashes, and displayed a crest like a glorious crown.

They would paint his face white, white as a bone; they would powder his eyelids with golden dust, and line his face with strokes of blue, giving his appearance an avian contour. They taught him how to speak and eat without disturbing his carefully crafted facade. Not a single smudge would be tolerated. He had to keep this mask, and soon, he learned how to hide behind it.

It was all so strange. He didn't know why he was being given these lessons. He didn't understand why he had such large, striking wings, and everyone else didn't. And they went about such different, simple lives. There was no pageantry to it. Some cooked, some cleaned, and some counted coins. All of them, save his teachers and owners, ignored him. The stark contrast of his existence in comparison to everyone else’s left him with no place to put his feet. There was no ground, no anchor. The world didn't seem real. It was like being led around in a hazy dream of someone else’s conception. He didn't know how to do anything other than how to be a part of that dream, a set piece, and an actor with no stage.

It only felt appropriate when he learned that this house he lived in was part of many, many other houses, called the Floating Quarters. At first, he wondered if they truly floated on air. But when he voiced the question during one of his many lessons, he was told that the houses of the Floating Quarters, as well as the roads paved around them, were laid on foundations standing on stilts, so they were above the muck of the common streets.

This meant as little to Armin as the rest of his lessons. His life continued in this manner for years, until he reached a certain age.

A crest of feathers grew into his blonde hair, white, with patterns of blue and gold even more vibrant than his wings. His hands and feet grew scaled as bird flesh, the same bleached color. His heavy robes hung over them, hiding the sight. If he showed them for more than a second, he would have his knuckles slapped with a stick. He grew adept at using only the tips of his fingers to touch. He began to revile the sight of his own gnarled flesh.

It was not long after he had grown into this new form that he was introduced to the first room; the cage. It was beautiful, gilded in gold, hung from a scrolling, curving post, and just large enough for him to fit in, while holding his wings at his sides in an easy, yet poised posture, his robes pooled underneath him as he knelt. The room was similarly filled with other fine cages; each one housed an equally beautiful bird. With no idea of night or day in this dark, lantern-lit room, they did not sing. Perhaps they had forgotten how.  
  
Fine curls of smoke from pots of incense rose into the air, like shifting snakes, disappearing into the thin clouds that hung near the ceiling. The scent mingled with that of the lacquer that made the wooden floors and walls shine, the smell of seeping tea, and the woody burn of tobacco. It nearly addled his senses to complete confusion. For all he knew, that could be their purpose.

Despite the clamor of sights and smells around him, it was when he first sat in the cage that he began to realize his purpose. The stage had finally been set. His lessons all came into practice, one after another. Sitting, where he had nothing to do but sit. Keeping his neck straight and his robes in place. When the spectators began to file in, he knew what to do like it was born instinct. This was where he was meant to be.

At first, the spectators remained spectators. People came into the room only to look at him. They discreetly exchanged coin with the owners of the house. Real coin, something Armin knew the value of very well, just to gape at his oddity.

Was this power? Armin knew that he was different, but it had never afforded him this kind of attention before. He wondered if he wasn't only different, but special. That he was something of value.

But as he watched the people that watched him, he began to see things. The appraising look in their eyes, leering at him, sizing him up. The way that they momentarily recoiled when they made eye contact, then took pleasure in the surprise. How their hands itched, how their fingers rubbed together so subtly.

If this was power, it was the kind of power that food had over a hungry man. He wasn't here to be praised, but to satisfy. And the kind of satisfaction he existed to provide only grew deeper.

After months of only sitting in the cage, he was introduced to the second room. It was as dimly lit as the last, with the same theme of decor, the same polished wood. But there was a table, low to the ground, surrounded by plush cushions of all sorts of shapes, but all the same colors. White, blue, and gold. A large teapot in the shape of a crane sat near one edge, its curved neck shaped as the spout, steam slowly rising from its just open beak. Other straight, long-necked bottles of a plainer, clay make sat around as well, and held different alcohols to be poured into small cups and dishes.

Now, men bought him for his time. He would offer them delicate foods and fine drinks, he served and he poured, all with the same dignified mien that he had been taught. And for the first time, he spoke. While he was not free to say whatever he wished, as he knew his owners were always standing around a corner, or behind a screen, he felt a kind of relief in conversation. His thoughts were no longer entirely bottled up in his head. He could let something out, even if it was only something very small. When he sang, he felt at ease, as though the sound of his voice carried some magic of comfort.

That pleasure did not last.

The first men that came into the room with him did not touch him. Their eyes were the same as they had always been, the same ones he saw in the cage. And their words pleasant, carefully chosen. The advances took time, and they were small. The first was a brush of the fingers, as he handed a cup to a patron. The second, a brush of the shoulders as he leaned to the side. Then his arm, his side, his thigh, the bone of his wing. He had to suppress the urge to recoil that surged up his spine. He would surely be punished if he showed any displeasure towards a guest.

Their hands began to creep further, under his robes, to touch his pale flesh. Oftentimes they would put their arm over his shoulder, and sneak their fingers under the neck of his collar. The creeping sensation was more repulsive than that of a spiders crawl, tapping smooth and dry against his clavicle. Their skin touched his in places he rarely touched himself. In places he didn't touch himself. When no-one was looking, Armin would direct his horrified stare at the porcelain teapot, his eyes reflected in its own; they were equally helpless.

Then came the third room. As lovely as the last, it was spotlessly clean, dim, and spacious. A beautiful silken screen depicted a crane in flight. A small nook at the end of the room showcased a single flower in a perfect vase, and a scroll painted with an image of heaven above the clouds. But none of it detracted from his beauty. He was still the finest piece of art in this house.

In the very center of the room laid a bed big enough for two. At its head was one, plain pot for burning incense.

A stick of incense was the most valuable ware the house sold. Just one was worth what an average man would touch in coin for a whole month. It would burn for exactly ten minutes.

As long as there was a stick of incense burning in that pot, the third room belonged to the man who bought it. And in turn, Armin belonged to them.

One stick was barely enough to rid him of his robes. If anything was torn, or made otherwise unusable, it would be the man's responsibility to replace it, and so his clothes were handled with more care than was held for his flesh. For some men, that was enough, if they were fast. For most, it wasn't.

With two, they could touch him. Many were fascinated with his wings and crest, of course, as they were what afforded his sumptuous expense. They too, had to be handled delicately. A bird plucked of its plumage is only good to be eaten, and so men were not allowed to take any "souvenirs". Instead, they took their time relishing his form. Armin was soon glad that his longest, most beautiful feathers had few nervous endings-- he felt very little when hands carded through their fine, soft bristles.

Any men who could afford more than three sticks of incense were men who came with intention. They were men who were hungry, always hungry, and had been unsatisfied with everything life had to offer them. Ludicrously rich men who knew no strife and never had to beg for comfort. They didn't know what it felt like to truly need. And so, needs grew, from the deepest corners of their minds, from the darkest parts of their hearts.

These men already knew him well. They were always customers he had already served tea to, usually several times. All of the pageantry and posture of courtship had been hollowly plotted before they came to the third room. Armin knew what was in store for him when he saw a patron more than once. So they wasted little time with his robes and his wings, having already had their fill of his beauty. Now they wanted to see his submission and his helpless pleasure.

In the beginning, he didn't know what was happening to him. His owners had only prepared him in the sparest of manners, with the vaguest of explanations. If he were taught too thoroughly, it would ruin his value.  Patrons who came for his innocence paid a hefty sum for his first nights.

He would have to learn through painful experience, despite how he yearned to forget. He would give everything just to be cleaned of their touches, seeping through his skin, lingering like bruises. There was never any time for them to heal. Night after night, he was branded over and over again.

No matter how hard he tried to resist his peak, his body betrayed him. He would writhe, and moan and come for them, just as they wanted him to. There was nothing he could do. It was as though he was built for this purpose; to feel pleasure at the expense of others. Sometimes, he was even left disappointed and wanting. In those moments, he was more disgusted with himself than in the actions the patrons took with him.

Ashes heaped at the bottom of his incense pot. It was the only way he felt the passage of time. Seasons could come and go, and he wouldn't know the difference. He only saw his pot fill. Slowly, they rose, closer and closer to its brim. The higher they gathered, the less he felt. How many sticks had burnt down to their ends here? How many men did this pot represent? He didn't know. He felt so lost. It was the same floating, swaying, drifting...

In the pitch of night, after the scent of incense had faded, Armin was allowed to return to his room. He had all sorts of nice things, but had long since lost the passion for books and games he had as a child. He had tired of the fairy-tale that lived outside these wooden walls, one that he would never see. So, he would remove his make-up, his ornaments, and his robes, and go to sleep, the only time he was able to break free of this life.

It was during his night-time routine that he first felt it. The weight of his hairpin in his palm. It had a hefty, sturdy pin, a flat piece of metal as thick as his thumb to match the weight of the jewels at its end. There was something enticing about the way it glimmered in the light of his lantern, gleaming dangerously at its sharp tip. Slowly, he pressed it into his palm, digging until it drew a spot of blood. The work was surprisingly easy, even against the birdlike flesh of his hand.

As the next man came for him, and he entered the third room, he took special note of the pot of ashes. It wasn't quite full. He started checking every night. It's all he thought about anymore. Is it full yet? Will it be tonight? Tomorrow? A week from now? As he was disrobed, touched and tortured, he glanced back at the sticks of incense, as they slowly curled, as they burnt to their ends. Tiny flakes of ash fell, little bits at a time, and it afforded him some relief.  
  
It was a long night, when a man had bought six sticks that Armin noticed that a crumb of ash had fallen from the pot and onto the floor. He was pleasured for an hour, in nearly every way imaginable, and while he heard his own moans, while he looked straight into his guest’s eyes, he felt absolutely nothing. His blood ran cold, and his skin went numb. He no longer felt his heartbeat.

He carried that hollow nothingness back with him into his room after he was freed. It was an engulfing emptiness. There was no hunger. He felt no want or need. It was simply a conclusion, he reasoned to himself, as he sat in front of his mirror and looked into the eyes of a stranger who wore a painted mask. Tonight, he would lower the curtains on this play. Tonight, the dream would end.

If there were hatred in his heart, he would have cut off his wings first. He would have pulled out all the feathers of his crest. He would have left some sort of testament of his pain to the people that kept him all these years. But he couldn't find the emotion to stir such an act of defiance.

Slowly, he tugged the collar of his robe up, loosened it, and pulled his hands free from his heavy sleeves. He exposed his chest. Then, Armin removed his hairpin, and his long locks fell around his shoulders like drapery. The ornaments makeshift blade glinted with light brighter than he had ever seen through a window, or from a door. Certainly, it was the best escape, cold and reassuring in his palm, like a kind of handle.

His grasp was firm as he held the instrument up. With one hand, he felt at his heart, and with the other, he found space between his ribs with the hairpin's tip. He did not shake, or hesitate. His knuckles were white with resolution as he prepared to plunge the weapon into his chest.  
  
A loud rattling sounded behind him. Something he'd never heard before. Armin paused just as the hairpin had nearly broken his skin. The sound grew closer and closer. It was no mere rat under the floorboards. Something was knocking against the wood with insistence, and there was a muffled voice, a grumble of irritation. The floor creaked and groaned. In the reflection of his mirror, Armin saw a figure emerge.

At first, he couldn't make out their shape, only vaguely humanlike. Then there was a _whoosh_ of wind, a sharp inhale, and a thin flame rose into the air in the shape of a flicking tongue. It illuminated a face, and a bright flash of earthen amber, like a jewel caught in the light.

Armin's mouth fell open, agape, while his hands still held the hairpin, still ready. He turned to look over his shoulder, through the drape of his hair. The figure wormed its way in, lifted up on its elbows. Armin's heart was pounding in his ribcage as he watched.

Another flame rose into the air, and he could see that it was coming from the lips of this person who had just burst through the floor. The amber color he had seen at his first glimpse of his face were scales that patterned his cheekbones. Those, and his surprised eyes, nearly the same color.

"Shit," he said in a stage whisper, "this is _not_ the way out of the sewers."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> If you enjoyed this in any way, please, leave a kudos, and if you're feeling particularly generous, a comment! As all writers, I live off of feedback. It really helps to keep me motivated!


	2. Kin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say here! Despite the length of this chapter, not a whole lot is made concrete. No new characters or warnings!
> 
> Peeps from the Fire Emblem fandom may notice some terminology I nipped from those games. This is not a Fire Emblem crossover. I just like the names.
> 
> This fic was heavily inspired by a roleplay done with [wadthehuntress](http://wadthehuntress.tumblr.com/). The dragon-hybrid species is one of her original creations; I've only made very slight alterations to her formula. Many thanks to her for allowing me to use her characters!

Armin felt an electric surge through his body, and his crest fluffed up in response. A hotness developed in his cheeks. But no words came with these sensations. He only stared stupidly at his intrepid intruder, his sharp features becoming clearer as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

The man had a messy hair cut close to the roots, long, pointed ears, and strangest of all, amber-colored scales that were scattered around his eyes, on his cheekbones and brow and crawled down onto his neck. Their beautiful shine reminded him of a fish he kept as a child. It's the only time he had ever seen anything even remotely similar. No man like him had ever stepped foot into this house.

"Hey, Feathers," he whispered again, and Armin couldn't help but listen closely, "don't get excited, okay? Just tell me where I am, and I'll get out of your hair. No harm no foul, right?"

Armin blinked owlishly at being addressed in such a manner. The Scaled Man from Under the Floorboards spoke so plainly, he wasn't sure how to respond. His mouth opened, then closed. He looked around the room as if he were waiting for inspiration to strike him. As he looked down, he noticed that his chest was still bare, and he was still holding the tip of his hairpin against his heart...

He dropped the ornament as if it had burned him. It fell of the floor with a heavy _clunk_. Then he covered himself with his arms for a moment, before realizing his robe was still underneath him. Hurriedly, he pulled his lighter under-robe back over his shoulders. Despite his weeks of intention, he somehow still felt shame for being caught in the middle of an attempt on his own life.

"Come on," the man urged him, and acted as if he hadn't seen what was about to happen. He anxiously glanced around himself for possible intruders, "don't you talk?"

"...Not really," Armin responded, unsure even of those words, and what the motivation behind them was, "you're... these are the Floating Quarters. This is a... house..."

" _Shit._ " the man repeated, and his eyes widened. He pulled a hand back through his hair, "so _that's_ what you're doing here. Shit. Should've known..."

He trailed off into mumbled speech and began to rub at a scrap of stubble at his chin, talking to himself. Armin could only stare at the floor. How much longer was he going to have to endure this?

"...Tell you what," he started again, and crawled a little further out of his hole, "we're Kin, right? Let's help each other out. You give me that pin, and your fancy robe, and I'll get you out of here."

Armin had to pause once more. He struggled to bring words to his lips. He'd never felt clumsier or dumb in his life, not even during his first lessons. Who was this man? What did he want from him? Everyone wanted something from him. It had to be.

"You are not my kin," he began, and the man cut in immediately:

"No, we're not _kin_. Of course we're not related. I mean, we're _Kin._ Get it?"

Armin's complete lack of response quickly proved that he did not. The scaled man mumbled a curse, and pressed a hand to his forehead.

"And none of those things are mine to give," Armin continued, his voice low and soft, "the pin, the robe, or myself. They all belong to the owner."

At that, the man's expression quickly changed. For the first time, he looked confused, and concerned. Armin wasn't sure why.

"How long have they had you in here?"

"Always," he answered, this time without any hesitation.

" _Dear Naga,_ " said the man, as he looked to the ceiling as if he were begging for help, "why have you led me here? I've already got enough on my plate..."

He sighed, and shook his head. But despite his obvious doubts, he held a hand out to Armin. He noticed that there were scales on its back, and down his arm as well.

"Come on. It's either this or the pin in your chest, right?"

So he _had_ noticed what was going on when he first popped in. Was he just being willfully ignorant? What was is that changed his mind? Why would he implicate himself now?

Despite how Armin's thoughts clamored, his hand was still outstretched.

"Give it to me. There's no reason that you can't. That and your robes should be enough. Then we'll both be rid of this forsaken hellhole."

"I can't," Armin shook his head, "they'll find me, and I'll be punished."

"What kind of punishment is worse than death?" 

Armin said nothing. He looked into the man's eyes through his own, behind his mask of paint, completely devoid of any sort of empathetic connection. His robe had wings embroidered on their sleeves, but his real ones lay behind him on the floor, useless. The scent of incense still clung to him, and light bruises patterned his collarbone and thighs.

He was the very portrait of all the insidious ways a person can be broken of their spirit. How could he possibly know that the world outside was worth his poor and dwindled hope when the world inside these walls was nothing but suffering? In his entire life, no one had ever offered him a single act of kindness. The sun was kept so far from him that he didn't know its warmth. This man's promises were empty to him.

He seemed to understand. The man's ears drooped, and he looked away with a sigh. He pushed himself up, as quietly as he possibly could, all the way out of the floor. An amulet, a deep, burgundy color, like wine, fell out from his shirt. Armin saw that, along with the amber scales on his face, the man sported a large tail of the same color, winged with a membranous fin at its tip.

He crawled close enough to touch the hairpin on the floor. Armin felt his heart rise into his throat. His fingers twitched with anxiety. If that implement were taken away from him, he didn't know how else he would finish his gruesome duty. He wanted to slap the man's scaled hand away, and take the weapon back to his bosom. He never wanted to make this decision. He just wanted everything to end.

"Please," he begged, but was unable to complete his own thought. The yearning for salvation that slowly grew within his was almost too much to bear. Slowly, scaled fingertips grazed the tip of the ornament. Armin began to shake in fear, and hot tears pressed at his eyes. The man's claws inched further and further, until he could draw the pin across the floor, ever so gently towards himself. One tiny increment after another, he took it in, until he picked it up and stored it under his belt.

Armin felt his tears fall. He had not cried since he was a child, before they began to apply his mask. Each one smeared his pigments, and as they pattered on the floor, he looked down to see the drops, swirled white and blue, shining with gold. He rose his sleeves to his face and wiped at his eyes. It made the mess worse, but he didn't care. It felt good to get rid of all that cakey makeup.

"There," the man said, and nodded, "see? There's still something in you. You're coming with me."

He stretched his fingers out, gesturing for Armin to take his hand. For the first time in his life, Armin reached back. He didn't feel any repulsion as he saw his white gooseflesh, contrasting with the man's yellow scales. Silently, he was guided to the hole that had been pushed up through the floorboards. Armin stepped out of his heavy, outer robe, and went through only in his cotton linens. He tucked his wings in tight and fell into the darkness. It was the first time he had ever crossed the threshold of his prison.

The drop was nothing, just three or four feet at most. It only gave Armin a short thrill. What he found far more interesting was the texture of the turf below the house. It was soft, yet gritty. There were bits of pebbles and stubborn weeds that pressed against his hands and feet. It had a complexity to it that was better than smooth, hard wood and cushiony pillows. He instinctively kneaded at the ground in silent amazement as he listened to the man still in the room above him do something, and then reset the floorboards before he dropped down beside Armin.

He still couldn't see a thing. But it seemed that his new captor had far better night vision than he did. And when there wasn't a sliver of light to guide them, he would make his own by spitting a thin, steady flame from his mouth. Everything looked the same to him, rows and rows of pillars that held up different houses and pathways for people to walk on, but the man seemed to know where he was going. Armin followed that flame, crawling on his hands and knees, until they came to what looked like some kind of ditch that led down into a pitch black hole. Slowly moving water trickled down the wide gutter, and it tickled Armin's feet as it passed.

When they crawled in, things started to get twisty, like the innards of an anthill. His guide stopped at every junction they came to and dipped his fingers into the water below them. He was checking to make sure they were still heading downstream. The incline wasn't steep enough to judge by footstep alone. It must be impossible to tell where you're going if you're headed in the opposite direction.

As they took the path before them, Armin found that he had more and more headspace to work with. Soon, he could stand and walk. The ground slowly morphed from stone to dirt. Mud squelched under his feet and globbed up between his toes.

"Sorry," the scaled man mumbled, "the runoff from the streets is pretty gross, and you don't even have shoes."

First, Armin shook his head in dismissal, But when he realized that such a gesture can't be heard, he replied, "...it's alright. I don't feel much on the skin of my hands and feet."

And secretly, the sensation fascinated him. There was something about the live earth that made him feel at ease, but he didn't know why.

The deeper and deeper they followed this slope, Armin began to notice that the space around them was somehow becoming brighter. How could that be? They were going down, and even he knew that light couldn't penetrate solid rock. Eventually, curiosity drove him to look up.

When he wasn't paying attention, the ceiling had grown cavernous. And while it was hard to make out exactly what they were, strange rocks embedded in the stone above them twinkled brightly. They gave off light like little stars, things that he just barely had been able to glimpse in his lifetime.

With his head tilted back, Armin lost track of where he was going. Eventually, he collided into his guide. He bit his tongue, and the man gave a hiss of pain as well.

"Watch your feet, okay?" he was told. This time, when he nodded, he knew that he could be seen, "it's easy to slip down here."

In the soft, mysterious glow, he could see that the man had also filched his ceremonial robe while he was waiting for him to close the hole in the floor. It was tied to his back in a bundle with one of the ropes from his sashes. It was a good thing that Armin didn't wear it down here. Its hems would be soaked in mud, and its value would have been ruined.

It didn't bother Armin. The man could have stolen his every earthly possession, and it wouldn't have made much difference. None of it truly belonged to him. He regarded it all as ill-gotten gains. What did it matter if contraband moved from one set of hands to another?

And he was thoroughly distracted by what was unfolding before him. They paused at a rocky outcrop, where the water under their feet fell down into a stream of sewage far below. Over the edge of the cliff, he saw what was truly underneath them the entire time.

 Below the ground, an entire borough of dwellings existed. Nooks and crannies, entire establishments carved in and out of hard stone, all lit by the same crystal he had seen above them. It cast dramatic shadows every which way, and gave the hidden city a huge sense of depth. People weaved around corners and alleyways in orderly swarms as they went about their daily (or more accurately, nightly) business.

They slowly picked their way down a narrow cliffside path, and sidled through a few tight corners to make their way into the traffic of the streets. Armin was hypnotized. He'd never seen so many people in one place in his life. They all wore practical clothes, probably too focused on survival to care much about their appearances, and seemed to be doing some kind of work. And none of them were staring at him! He would get an occasional moment of eye contact here and there, but nobody seemed to care he existed at all, even with his wings in plain sight.

He would stop, and start, and stop again every other second. The allure of all the things he's never seen in his life was too great. There were dozens of threads of conversation in the air. Street vendors loudly hawked their products. Delicious scents wafted from a panoply of food carts. All the sights, sounds, and smells of a busy population were brand new to him, and his crest lifted slightly from his head in interest. It must have annoyed the man guiding him, to have to keep an eye on such a distracted toddler. Eventually, He took Armin's hand.

"Come on," he jerks his neck in a _this way_ gesture. An expression of gentle irritation was on his face, "I know this is probably all nuts to you, but we're burning precious moonlight. I've got a contact to meet here, and the people down here work on a different clock than up top. Most of the stores close in the morning."

Armin hummed his assent and took the man's hand in return. He still had to be dragged in the right direction every now and then, but he tried his best to keep up with his guide. He had no idea how someone could remember their way and properly navigate this labyrinth of streets and claustrophobic catwalks, but they never paused once. He certainly had a direction in mind.

After a few well-plotted turns, Armin found that they were alone again, in a narrow alley. It was hard to see the star-lights above them anymore. The brick footpath beneath them was crowding together, and had grown a mossy film of lichen, like a bunch of bad teeth. The buildings were lurching inwards as though ready to collapse at any moment. It gave the impression of a huge, yawning mouth ready to gulp them up. Armin stayed close to the back in front of him, afraid that he would be lost if the two of them were separated.

They turned one last corner and entered a small building. There were no signs to indicate what it was used for, just a plain wooden door like so many others down the alleyway.

Inside, it was a little bit brighter. The same glowing stones from outside were in here as well, although smaller, and not as bright. They illuminated walls covered in shelves of all sizes, and on those shelves were all sort of wares. Painted pots, all kinds of other ceramics, fine clothes, shiny baubles, and jars in a mish-mash sizes, full of things Armin didn't recognize. The little room was absolutely packed to the brim with the all the stuff.

Behind a counter sat an unusual man. He was no human, rather like his two patrons. He had shining, beady eyes, a hard, leathery nose, and a mouth full of huge teeth. His ears stuck out strangely from the sides of his head, and were soft and satiny with a fine layer of fur.

It took Armin a moment to grasp what the man reminded him of, but it soon came to him: A rat.

"Hey, you're back!" the rattish man greeted as he stood up, and opened his arms in welcome, though there was something insincere about his tone. His keen little eyes were focused mainly on his scaled companion, but kept flicking towards Armin's direction with an expression he knew very well; appraisal, "I wasn't expecting you so soon! Did you make up your mind then? Ready to finish our transaction, eh brother?"

"Not quite," his guide replied. Armin highly doubted that the two of them were really 'brothers', "I've got a new deal."

The shopkeeper tilted his head at him, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion as he untied the bundle from his back. As he revealed Armin's robe, he took an immediate step back.

"Woah whoa whoa there," he waved his hands in front of him in rejection, "I don't deal in hot goods! Where the hell'd you get that..."

His words trailed off as he looked towards Armin, then back at the robe. The pieces of this puzzle were quickly coming together.

" _Sweet Sina_ , it's from the _Kinshi!_ " he exclaimed, and his damp little nose twitched in excitement, "and not just their best robes, but their livelihood too? You're fucking nuts!  How did you even get in? Their building is the best in the Floating Quarters!"

"It's not important," the scaled man mumbled, reluctant to let slip that he came upon Armin entirely by accident, "he was being kept in a cage like a parrot. He's Kin, I can't just abandon shit like this when I see it. And I'm not selling _him_ to you, just the robes!"

"Crazy friggin' lizard," the shopkeeper shook his head in amazement, and took a sly step forward with an intention opposite of the tone of his words "you know I can't sell this! Look at the pattern! It's a custom piece; anyone from the pleasure district could tell where it came from. Their goons would trace this back to me in a second, especially now that they're gonna be looking for their main attraction!"

"That's _Mamkute_ to you, ratfink," he snorted in return. A puff of smoke rose from his nostrils and into the air, "and you're full of shit. Even if you had to slough this off on the mafia, they'd take 25 at best. You take 25, and that leaves me with a clean 5o. That's at least two and a half dozen in Roses."

For once, Armin had an idea of what was going on before him. Coin was one thing he was very familiar with. A gold Sina could feed a small family humbly for a year. A silver Rose, about a month. Tiny copper Marias were used for small transactions. Their value fluctuated, but usually, it was about 100 Marias to a single Rose.

"Don't act like you know my business," the rat snapped back. He pointed a clawed finger at-- a Mamkute, Armin guessed, although he didn't know what that meant-- rather aggressively, "This shit is a risk! I need at least 50 to make a deal worth it!"

"Cut the crap! I'm not some clueless heardbeast. I know this kind of robe is worth at least 5 years of grain. I'm giving you a deal already!"

The shopkeeper scrunched up his nose in displeasure, but lacked an argument. He made a snickering noise with his lips and teeth and rubbed his chin in thought.

"...You sure you can't let go of that Dragonstone you got?"

This time, actual flames rose up from the Mamkute's nose. The rat took the hint.

"Alright, alright. How about you throw in that nice piece of jewelry you've got tucked in your belt there, and we make ourselves a deal?"

"Thirty Roses," he confirmed, and held out his hand for a shake. The shopkeeper hesitated one last time.

"You can't take any copper?"

"No copper. You know Marias aren't worth their weight in dirt up north."

The rat sighed, but still took the deal and shook. "You're gonna clean me out of silver," he muttered as he went back behind his counter, and pulled out a locked box carved from one, huge piece of hardwood. It made a loud jangle as he set it down and opened it.

Even Armin watched closely as the coin was counted. Thirty Roses. One could buy six sticks of incense back at the house with that much coin. They had a weighty heft in the small bag that had been prepared to carry them.

"You be careful with what you have there," he warned as he slid the bag across the counter to the Mamkute. His expression turned unexpectedly serious, "that's more coin than most people hold at once in their whole lives. And you just kidnapped something way more valuable. You hear me, kiddo?"

His guide turned his eyes to the side, as if he were blowing the man off. But he still nodded.

"Come on," he took Armin's shoulder and turned him around to leave. The gravity of the situation was beginning to weigh on him. His robe had been sold. The pin too. His chance at a clean end was gone. But would he need it any longer?

He looked up to the man leading him as they closed the door to the pawn shop behind them. The outside alley was nearly silent. It gave Armin a chance to think for the first time since he was smuggled out of his house.

"Who... are you, exactly?" he asked for the first time, as he suddenly felt the concern to know.

"I was wondering when you'd wake up enough to ask," his captor replied, the edge of a self-derisive laugh on his words, "still, it's a loaded question. Not something you can answer in a few words. But my name is Jean if you wanna know."

"Jean," he repeated to himself, so he would remember. Most other names were a blur to him, as people that used him came and went so quickly, "Jean. They called me Armin."

"Hey, Armin," Jean nodded, and gave Armin's shoulder a gentle clap, "it's nice to learn your name."

"I gotta thank you," he continued as they wove their way back to the main streets. Armin noticed that they weren't nearly as busy as before, and many of the shops and stalls were closed. They really must all sleep when the sun is up, "if it weren't for that robe, I would have been up a creek. I need coin if I'm going to get up north in one piece."

"North?" Armin asked, only aware that it was a direction in which people went, but Jean seemed to mean it was a place you could go to.

"Right, north," Jean replied self-assuredly, "up in the pagan lands. There are all sorts of Kin living up there. Me, I've got business up in the Duma Mountains. It's at the very end of the Mamkute migration routes."

"And if we're lucky, we can find where-ever you were stolen from too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please, leave a kudos! If you've already left a kudos, please considering leaving a comment! Here's a prompt, if it helps:
> 
> Copy and paste your favorite sentence from this chapter, and leave a small reason why!


	3. The Goddesses' Coin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long to come out! Something... Terrible happened in the manga, and I lost my will to write for a little bit, lol. And then I got a new video game that I was determined to get a platinum trophy on, so I drowned my sorrows in Odin Sphere for 45 hours. Whoops.
> 
> This chapter is really expository. I hope that the underlying unrest and the separation between the species makes sense to everyone.
> 
> This fic was heavily inspired by a roleplay done with [wadthehuntress](http://wadthehuntress.tumblr.com/). The dragon-hybrid species is one of her original creations; I've only made very slight alterations to her formula. Many thanks to her for allowing me to use her characters!

Jean continued to lead Armin through the slowly emptying streets for a few minutes, until they came upon a building with its lights still on and doors still open. Once inside, Armin first noticed a merrily burning hearth at the far end of the room, with a few chairs nearby so people could sit and enjoy its warmth. The rest of the space was dark, and employed by large tables made of sturdy slabs of wood. There were a few people eating, or just lounging, but the room was mostly vacant.

A portly woman with frazzled hair and a stained apron stood behind a counter, cleaning dishes. She was watching Jean with a sour look on her face. Armin wasn't sure if she had noticed him at all, but he still shuffled behind his current protector meekly to avoid her gaze as they approached.

"We don't take whores under this roof," she said immediately, before Jean had any chance to explain himself, "get rid of that dirty little tramp. I'm not getting their diseases in my good clean beds."

"...Whore?" Armin repeated under his breath. He'd never heard the word before, but the woman was obviously talking about him. And she said it so contemptuously. He felt ashamed for reasons he didn't understand.

"He's not a whore," Jean retorts, a small puff of smoke rising from his mouth, "he's my friend. Don't insult him."  
  
"You think I was born yesterday?" the proprietress shot right back, while she washed a mug with particular ire, "I don't care how you smuggled him down here, Kin of his type can only come from the Menagerie. He must do pleasure work in the Quarters... Look at him! White as a bone, and his face still half-painted... It can't have been more than an hour since the last time he was fu--"  
  
"--It doesn't matter where he came from," Jean's tailed lashed in irritation, cutting her off before she could say another vile word, "the point is, he's not here to do _that._ "

"Feh!" She spat, "sure he isn't. I doubt the little wastrel knows how to do anything else. And what about your unpaid tab, eh? I'll skin you of your scales if I don't see any coin by sundown. You'll make a fine pair of slippers."

Jean's tail thrashed again, and made a loud _thwack_ against the floor. Armin swore he saw embers rise from his mouth as he growled and reached into his pouch of silver. He slammed a Rose down on the counter between him and the innkeeper; Armin was sure it would make a dent in the wood.  
  
" _This_ is to cover my tab," he responded shortly, each syllable of every word that came from his mouth clearly enunciated, as though the woman was too stupid to understand him otherwise. He took another coin, and brought it down nearly as hard as before, "and _this_ is to move to a room with hot water. I'm sure even this shit-heap of an establishment has a boiler, eh?"

The woman's nose wrinkled in distaste, and he saw the anger as it rose red in her cheeks. But her mouth was silent. It was as if the coins had cast a magic spell. She took one of them, bit it, and then examined the small marks her teeth left in the silver. Its authenticity only seemed to rile her further.

"...First door to the right," she muttered darkly, and gestured over her shoulder with a jerk of her head, "closest to the kitchen. And I swear, if I hear one peep from you two, just one moan, I'm kicking you out on the streets. No refunds."

"Thank you!" Jean flippantly punctuated the end of their conversation as he walked away, one hand tossed up in a taunting wave. The other directed Armin forward. He heard the mug she was cleaning smash on the floor as soon as they were out of sight. Jean whispered "bitch" under his breath.

"...You made her change her mind," he quietly remarked. It was very obvious that she disliked them both, although probably for different reasons,

"A little bit of coin can create miracles in the minds of men," Jean shrugged as they walked down the hallway, "and I just gave her enough to pay for my stay ten times over. No amount of 'good sense' can overcome that kind of money."

Armin nodded as Jean opened the door closest to them. He knew that it was money that gave men the power to treat him the way they did. Its influence must reach very far.

The room inside was moderately spacious, at least by Armin's standards. It was about as big as the first room back at the house, the one where he sat in the cage. There were two beds. Unlike the bed he slept in, they had proper mattresses raised up on a wooden frame. He stared at them for a moment, then turned his head to look around.

He caught sight of his reflection in a smudgy mirror.

"Oh."

Armin had never seen himself in such a disgraceful state. His makeup was a complete mess, not removed, but smeared all over his face, blue and gold and white all mixed together. His hair was only half held up-- some of the smaller metal pins must have fallen out while they walked here. There was mud caked on his hands and bare feet. His sleeves were covered in it too.

He glanced over at Jean. He didn't seem nearly as messy as Armin felt. He must be very clumsy to get so dirty.

"Don't worry about what that heifer had to say about you," Jean said, having noticed the look on Armin's face, "she's full of it. I don't know where or when she got that stick shoved up her ass, but boy did they get it in deep."

Jean's foul humor was lost on Armin. He looked at his hands, then up at the mirror again. He saw the bruises that were forming around his neck and collar.

"Am I a whore?"

He looked straight up at Jean as he said it, and the discomfort was plain on his face. His lips went thin, and he glanced away. He rubbed the back of his neck. Armin knew from this response that it must be true.

"What's a whore? Did... Did I do something? Am I dirty?"

"You're not," Jean cut in before Armin said anything else. He put a hand on his shoulder, and squeezed a little, "you're just... You're not. People like her may say stuff like that, but they don't know shit. They really don't have a clue."

Armin felt like he was the one that didn't have a clue. He touched his bruises self-consciously. Cold, clammy mud caked on his collar. He didn't have the strength to bring himself to look back up at Jean. That word was stubbornly stuck in this mind, like a fresh splinter. It only hurt him more as he thought about it. He couldn't pluck it out on his own.  

"Look, just..." he struggled with his words, and sighed in frustration. It only made Armin feel worse. Jean physically turned him around with both hands, so he faced what looked like a water closet, "go wash up. The pump over in that room should pour hot water. Get all of that crap off of yourself; you'll feel better when you're done."

There wasn't anything else to do. Jean gave him a little push, and a pat on the back as he obediently stepped forward, and closed the door behind him. There was another mirror in the washroom, over a basin. Armin fumbled with the pump for a moment before he understood how it was meant to be used, and then filled the bowl with hot water. The warmth of it sent a shiver up his spine. He hadn't realized how cold he was until now.

He shed his thin robe. Slowly and carefully, he washed the dirt and grime from his scaled hands and feet. Detritus often collected under his hard, claw-like nails and in-between the bumpy ridges of his skin. He dumped the muddy water, pumped a fresh bowl, and started again. This time, he scrubbed the traces of makeup from his face. When he was done, he dumped the bowl, and filled it again. He pulled all the pins from his hair, and lifted the basin to pour the water over his head.

Jean was right. The act of filling and emptying, and watching the used water swirl down the drain in the floor was like a performing a ritual. He felt cleansed in more ways than one. He looked at his naked body in the mirror. It was a sight he wasn't sure he'd ever seen before. His wings twitched and flicked off droplets of water without conscious command.

 _Whore_ , he heard the word echo in his mind again. His bruises were still visible, no matter how hard he tried to wash them off, but... they would disappear someday, right? Someday, when these unwanted touches ceased to linger in his memory. As he stood in front of his reflection, unpainted and unadorned, he felt hope stirring in his chest, like the tiniest bird's fluttering, precious and new.

 He did his best to clean his robe, and wrung it out over and over until it was as dry as it was ever going to get. At least it was warm, even if it was damp. Armin put it back on, and tied his long hair back in a simple ponytail before he opened the door and stepped out of the washroom. Steam billowed out before him. It must have gotten quite humid in there.

Jean was lounging on one of the beds. He'd taken off his boots and cloak, and was idly scratching an itch over his shoulder. He looked a little annoyed, although Armin wasn't sure over what. As free as he felt alone in the bathroom, when he was in a room with someone, his courage wilted. His feathered crest was flat against his skull. He only knew one outcome to this kind of situation.

"I'm sorry..." he quietly started, "did I take too long? I didn't mean..."

"Huh?" Jean looked at him as though he hadn't even noticed him having stepped out of the washroom, "oh, no-- ah, shit. That's all you have to wear? I was gonna take you to one of the tailors, but they were all closed by the time I got done with that rat. You sure you aren't too cold in that? It gets pretty chilly down here."

"No, I'm fine," Armin nodded, and gently minced his way towards the other bed. At least, that's where he thought he was meant to go. It's where he wanted to go. But as much as he wished otherwise, the woman was right. He really did only know how to do _that_. He sat down with an air of guilt and reluctance.  
  
"How..." he started, and began to idly pick at the blankets beneath him as he tried to build up some pluck to speak, and peered up at Jean through his wet bangs "how am I meant to repay you for all this?"

Jean opened his mouth immediately, like he had an answer right away, but then a deeper realization hit him as he looked into Armin's eyes. An expression of shame settled on his face, for not having addressed this issue earlier.

"No," he replied firmly, and shook his head with just as much resolution, "no-one's going to do that to you ever again. Not me or anyone else, got it?"

"But you've already done so much for me..."

"Then find some other way to repay the debt. Your body isn't just some piece of meat on the butcher block anymore. You decide where your worth is."

It felt like a great weight lifted off of his shoulders when Jean said that. But... Armin didn't know what "worth" was yet. That much was obvious. He fumbled with the hems of his robes, unable to look at Jean again.

"It's alright," he heard him say, "don't worry about it for now. Just go to sleep, okay? We've got preparations to make once the sun goes back down."  
  
Armin obeyed. The blankets on the bed were thick. It was dance to try and get under them with his wings in the way, but he eventually figured out a way to lie down in them. They were like a protective shell. As he calmed down, he felt the fatigue of the day before catch up with him, and even with his countless doubts and worries, he fell asleep quickly.

\--

Morning-- well, evening, came quicker than Armin expected. He woke up, still groggy, to the scent of warm bread. Jean had brought breakfast to their room. There were rolls, fresh from the oven, poached eggs, and links of sausage. Armin was never allowed to eat such things at the house. They didn't want him to gain weight, or develop a greasy complexion, so they fed him on rice and vegetables. He could only take a bite or two of normal breakfast fare before he felt too full to keep eating.

"How were you able to get this food," Armin asked, as he pushed some egg around his plate. It felt impolite not to eat everything given to him, but he really didn't have the appetite, "when the innkeeper... Didn't seem to like us very much?"

"There are always Kin working in the kitchens," Jean explained around a cheek full of bread, "so I just went straight there, no middlemen. They don't have a problem with serving me."

"You say that word a lot. 'Kin.' What does it mean?"

"I can't believe you don't know," Jean replied, and Armin looked down, ashamed of his ignorance, "no, no, it's okay. It's the fault of the owners of that house you were in for not telling you."  
  
"Kin are... Well, people like us. Whatever isn't human, but still takes a human shape. We're all called Kin. We have forms that the Earth gave us. Like, I'm a Mamkute. A human would probably call me Dragonskin, because we share the shape of Dragons. And you, you're--"

"A Kinshi," Armin answered, and Jean nodded encouragingly.

"Right, Kinshi. Although you'll probably hear humans call you Birdskin."

"But..." a thought rolled around in Armin's head, and he wasn't sure how to express it, "I don't understand. Men would pay lots of coin to... have me. I thought that was because they liked me. But down here, it feels like humans don't like me at all."

"Men are gross," Jean shook his head. His expression was filled with disdain, "they like to own living creatures like they own things. The more rare and beautiful, the better. But the moment that creature is no longer under their thumb, they hate them."

"It's not just that though. Nearly all Kin are from the Pagan lands, where we praise the Myriad. But down here in the south, it's mostly humans, and Church tells them to worship the Goddesses."

Armin tilted his head in confusion. It was clear he didn't know what any of that meant. Jean's eyes rolled towards the ceiling in exasperation, but a small smirk of amusement was on his lips.

"Okay, okay. Where the hell do I start...? Well, the Myriad are easy enough to understand. Up in the Pagan lands, we believe that all things have a spirit. Not just Kin and humans, but the animals, the plants, the earth... Everything. There are gods everywhere, watching over us, and they deserve our respect. Some of them have names, some of them don't, but we acknowledge them all."

"Down here, belief is more like an institution. You know the faces on the coins, right? Maria, Rose and Sina? Those are the Goddesses. Humans believe that the Goddesses are the protectors of men-- the ones who create, and also cast judgment in the afterlife. The Church makes laws based on what they say the Goddesses regard as sin, and tell humans that they must abide by these laws, unless they want to burn in hell... Or begin their due suffering early, and rot in prison."

"But the Church isn't just a religious establishment. It also mints all the coin circulated in these regions-- hence, the faces of the Goddesses. And everyone here lives on coin. It forces the lords who own the land outside the city to keep the Church's law, or else they might be shorted on what they're owed for what their land produces when they come into the city to trade, since merchants and trading charters around here work out of the Church. Even the royal family is in their pocket. They say it's the will of the Goddesses. So as far as the influence of coin reaches, so does the word of the Church."

"But that..." Armin's eyes roamed about the room as he thought on Jean's lesson, "that sort of system... It has to be rigged. The Church could claim anything that doesn't please them as sin, in order to profit."

"See, I knew you were clever," Jean praised him, and he looked away self-consciously, "you're exactly right. The will of the Goddesses claims that the Pagans that worship the Myriad are devilish creatures that need to be brought to redemption. So the humans here view us as second class citizens. But do you know why that is?"

Armin brought a hand up to his mouth as he thought. Jean eagerly watched as he put the pieces together.

"...When you were talking to the Ratskin, you said that copper was worthless up north."

"And there you have it!" Jean slapped his knee and laughed, "the mountains in the Pagan lands are rich with seams of gold and silver. We mint our own coin. Of course, silver is silver, so we won't turn down a Rose in a trade. But because there's no copper, we exchange bits of polished quartz for small transactions."

"Since we're self-sufficient, the Church can't control our trade, and because we worship the Myriad, they can't spread their laws. The last way they can try an oppress us is to denounce us as a people entirely. It's against the law here to accept Pagan gold or silver, but that doesn't stop the black market from taking it and melting it. It causes the Church no end of grief."

Armin didn't believe it. Coin did do more than own a person... It changed how the masses think. It even controlled their perception of reality. Of course, people needed coin in order to survive, but this went far beyond just survival.

"Then why do Kin live here at all, if humans hate them so much?"

"A lot of them didn't have a choice," Jean sighed, "the Church has Crusaders. Knights that fight for the Goddesses. They're always pushing into Pagan territory under the belief that they're freeing the people that live there of their sins. Any survivors of the fighting have nothing left. They do whatever they have to do to keep living, even if that means living in this poor excuse for a sewer system."

"And then there are cases like yours, where you were likely taken as a kid, and they made it like they were doing a good thing, giving an orphan a place to live or some shit like that."

"But Kin aren't perfect either. There are assholes, like that rat from last night, that are here out of greed. There are a lot of things you can get here in the city that you can't get anywhere else. Those things can tempt anybody."

"Then," Armin mumbled, and made eye contact with Jean, "why are _you_ here?"

For the first time since they started talking, Jean gave real pause. Something like pain crossed his face. He shook his head.

"I didn't really have a choice either," he quietly answered, "but I've got shit I need to do. Even in the Pagan lands, you need money. And I've got a long way to travel."

Armin saw that this wasn't the whole story. It probably wasn't even a fraction of the truth. But he was in no place to question Jean. He was being helped, for whatever reason, and he wasn't about to bite the hand that literally fed him. He didn't think that Jean would get mad at him, but he didn't want to make him sad either.

"...Okay," he said, and they didn't speak again until after Jean finished his breakfast.

\--

They left the inn early in the night, to take care of the preparations needed to get out of the city.

First, Jean took Armin to a tailor. His thin under robe wasn't sufficient for traveling at all; hell, it was barely good enough to wear around the underground city. It needed to be replaced with something that could be worn day after day, and hold up in all sorts of weather.

The tailor's shop mesmerized Armin. All sorts of clothing made to fit a general shape laid neatly folded on tables, and behind the counter, there were huge, open shelves that displayed all kinds of uncut textiles. The rainbow of colors and patterns pleased the eye. Nothing being sold was anywhere close to the luxurious quality of his silk robe, but it was still impressive.

When the shopkeeper saw the two of them come in, he sighed in an apathetic kind of way, and said that custom jobs cost extra. Jean ignored him, and carted Armin around the tables. He picked up everything he determined he'd need-- Sturdy trousers, a comfortable tunic, good underclothes, a pair of boots made from well-worked leather, and a hooded cloak to protect him from the inevitable possibility of rain.

It was while they were shopping that Armin first took notice of what Jean was wearing. He was well outfitted and his clothes were broken in, but there were details here and there that weren't on what they were about to buy. Embroidery around the hems of his sleeves, on the seams of his pants, and a sash loosely tied around his waist that depicted a winged yellow dragon in a scrolling pattern. It was quite handsome, not flashy at all, and it matched his amber scales.

But his face was pinched, like it was last night when Armin came out of the washroom. Was he annoyed with something? He looked as though he had a thorn stuck in his side. Armin didn't know what to make of it, so he stayed quiet.

They brought the clothes to the tailor, and he came around the table to take measurements of Armin's wings. He hemmed and hawed for a bit about how difficult this job was going to be, gave them an estimate of four hours, and disappeared into the back of the shop.

Jean didn't waste time. While they waited, they went into the market to buy other supplies. He purchased as much jerky, hard bread, cheese, and dried fruit as one could reasonably carry. Along with that, clean linen bandaging, a generous jar of healing salve, and a typical sort of panacea meant to ward off sickness and infection.

Then he bought knives, one for each of them, that came in leather sheaths and easily attached to a belt. There were many uses for a knife, Jean explained, from hacking away weeds to skinning a rabbit. Armin had a feeling he'd cut off a finger if he tried to peel a potato, but he still agreed to carry one.

When they returned to the tailor, the clothing was done. He had modified the shirts and cloak to open at the back, like a backward button-up shirt, and fasten around Armin's wings. He tried them on, and they fit more comfortably than anything he had ever worn in his life. Trousers were an incredible relief that he didn't expect. He could walk at full stride without worry of exposing himself! He went around in circles in the shop, fascinated with the feeling, until the owner had enough of his antics and shooed them both out once he had his payment.

There was something wrong with Jean though. His expression was still taut. Armin walked at his side, with his old robe folded in his arms.

"...Are you alright?" he managed to ask, and Jean shook his head.  
  
"I'm sorry," the words came out of his mouth with a hiss, "I wanted to get out of here tonight, but... We have to go back."

Jean snorted in frustration, and picked up his pace. Armin struggled to keep up as they pushed through the crowds, so Jean took his hand like he did the night before and pulled him along. They reached the inn quickly, and made a beeline for their room.

Jean nearly slammed the door behind him, and immediately fell to his knees. He took off his cloak and clawed at the back of his shirt so he could pull it over his head. Armin only made noises of apprehension, his hands held close to his mouth, otherwise unable to respond to or understand whatever was happening in front of him.

When Jean finally got his shirt off, Armin gasped aloud. His eyes widened and the crest on his head stood straight up in alarm.

Jean's back was a giant, ugly bruise, every shade of black, purple, yellow and green you could possibly imagine. But it wasn't just that. His skin was stretched tight as a drum, nearly translucent.

And something underneath it _writhed_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please, leave a kudos! If you've already left a kudos, please considering leaving a comment! Here's a prompt, if it helps:
> 
> If you could see any character in this fic, as any sort of Kin you could think of, who would you like to see best, and in what form?


	4. Nymph's Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, was that a hump chapter is there ever was one. What was that, like. A half a year of hump? Dear Lord. I don't even like this. I don't want to post this. It's so massive and unwieldy and weird. This is an embarrassment. I beg you all to bear with me.
> 
> This fic was heavily inspired by a roleplay done with [wadthehuntress](http://wadthehuntress.tumblr.com/). The dragon-hybrid species is one of her original creations; I've only made very slight alterations to her formula. Many thanks to her for allowing me to use her characters!

"Jean, what... What is this?"

Armin kept his hands clasped to his chest as they wrung against one another in worry. He had a strange urge to touch Jean's back. Strange, because he had never felt the urge to touch another person in his life, but he did. Whatever was that was wrong with him, it looked painful. Something pushed and stretched against the inside of his skin, which gave him the horrible bruises. There were two shapes on either side of his shoulder blades, and every time they writhed, Jean hissed in pain.

He was scared, but he still knelt down beside him, waiting for an answer.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry," he gasped as he tried to get a hold of himself. He could move, he just couldn't bend his back-- if he stretched his skin, the pain only became more acute, "I thought I had more time, at least a week... Shit, this isn't good!"

As the bumpy shapes underneath his skin moved, Armin's wings twitched in sympathy. It was then that he had a realization.

"...Are you _growing wings_?"

Jean laughed in one sharp bark, and straightened his back in one quick motion. A cry of pain tried to gurgle its way up his throat, but he pushed it down.

"You're no fool," Jean replied through gritted teeth, "no matter how they may have tried to keep you one. You've got it exactly right."

"But why?" Armin didn't understand. Why would one have to go through this? He didn't know much about himself, but he did know one thing: he was born with his wings. They were smaller and less capable when he was younger, but he had them nonetheless, "and _how_?"

"Why? Why do chicken lay eggs and dogs have puppies? I don't know. This is how Mamkutes grow," he grimaced, and slowly stood himself back up. He used Armin's shoulder as a brace, and Armin didn't shy away from him, "and as for how, you're about to find out. It's gonna be fun."

Armin blinked a few times as he followed Jean's slow stagger back to the bed. As gingerly as possible, he laid himself down on his stomach. It was the most comfortable position he could manage.

"It doesn't look like it's going to be fun at all," Armin observed so dryly that Jean couldn't help but laugh again.

"Already mastering sarcasm, I see," Jean shook his head as Armin tilted his owlishly in return, "nevermind. Look, are you any good with blood? I'm gonna need your help."

"What do you mean," he asked, "'good with blood'?"

"It means you're going to see plenty of it pretty soon, and you're going to be useless if you swoon at the smallest sight."

"Oh," Armin stopped to think for a moment. Had he ever seen a large amount of blood in his life? No more than his own. It never bothered him then, but...

"I don't think it will make me faint," he answered with a small shrug. It was better to try than to hide. And he owed Jean his life. Helping him now would barely put a dent in that debt, but that didn't change the fact that Jean deserved it.

"Okay," Jean took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, "Okay. Normally there'd be other Mamkutes around for this, but you're gonna have to do. Listen close, 'cause this is probably gonna happen really fast if I can build up the gumption."

Armin nodded, and came a little closer. Jean's back continued to twitch in an alien manner, as though something was being held back from bursting free. The both of them took a deep swallow.

"I've got a claw-- a couple of claws, actually, on the joint of my wing here. You can't see it, but I can feel it. It's been done growing in for awhile, which is why things've gotten this bad, but... I think I spent too much time hoping for better circumstances. Anyways, it's there to tear my skin open. At this point it'll be like a knife through dry parchment, but it's still gross."

"All the dead skin needs to be cut away, or else it'll fester. And there'll be blood. Probably black by now. Nothing fresh, but messy. It just, it all needs to be cleaned off really well, so everything will dry out right."

"Okay," Armin nodded again, and his hands closed into determined fists. He wasn't another Mamkute, but he was here, "what should I do now?"

"Being some of that hot water over here. Strip the sheets off that bed and tear it into pieces small enough for you to use-- and don't look like that," Jean responded to Armin's guilty expression, "I gave her two Roses, she could buy ten more sets of bedsheets with that. Just do it."

Armin got busy with his requests. He pulled the sheets off the bed first, and tried to tear them up with his hands. The fibers were well woven and strong. Then he remembered he had a knife, and used that instead, careful to work away from his body instead of towards it, so he didn't end up disemboweling himself. It wasn't a neat job, but it would do. Then he filled the basin in the washroom and brought it where Jean was resting. It was a slow, dragging process. He didn't realize water could be so heavy.

"Good, good..." Jean glanced over his shoulder to look at everything Armin had prepared. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do, "could you get a piece of that cloth there wet, and give it to me? I need something in my mouth if I'm not gonna wake up the whole inn, or bite my tongue clean in half."

"Um... here," Armin offered him what he asked for. Jean was absolutely white, he noticed. He recognized fear when he saw it, and his expression was closer to the tone of terror. It was perfectly sensible for him to feel that way. Even Armin knew. He was about to rip himself open; of course he was scared.

"It'll be okay..." he softly said, and put his hand on the side of Jean's arm. He laughed in response, a nervous, high-pitched titter.

"I'm in a bad spot if _you're_ trying to comfort me," Jean squeaked out around the growing lump in his throat, "don't worry. The best thing you can do is act like you aren't seeing anything special. Just do what I told you, okay? Cut away the dead skin, and clean everything else as best you can."

"I can do it," Armin replied, and gave Jean's arm a light squeeze.

"Alright," Jean brought the damp cloth to his mouth, "sorry about... Well, anything. Can't really cover how disastrous this is going to be,"

He gently pushed Armin, and he took a step back in respect. Jean wadded the cloth in his mouth, and then, oh-so-slowly, got himself up on his forearms and his knees. His back was arched, and his skin was taut. Something like a finger seemed to be forcing its way up...

A claw ripped his skin, standing on edge. A large droplet of dark, thick blood rolled down his back. Armin tried to approach to clean it up, but Jean urgently slapped him away. There was water running down his chin from biting down on the cloth. A terrible noise eked out through his gag.

Then, as he said it would, it happened all at once. An entire limb burst through, and with it, blood spattered everywhere. Literally everywhere. On the walls, the ceiling, and even across Armin's face. There was no time to react. Jean fell to his side, his arms and legs flailed, his tail lashed, and he squealed like a pig that had just been brought to the slaughtering stone.

Past all the macabre, the fluids, the awful smell, Armin could see that something was wrong. The left wing had freed itself, but the right was still struggling. Its claw had just barely broken the skin, and the wing was frantically trying to push through without any purchase to do so.

Armin felt strange. Jean was only two steps away from him, but the distance seemed to be so much further than that. He had a clear vision, a memory of a beautiful lunar moth that laid helpless near his lamp, one wing torn off while the other flapped in vain. When he woke up in the morning, the moth was dead.

He had to do something.

He didn't say anything. He didn't warn Jean at all. He leapt forward, held the back of Jean's neck with one hand and wielded his knife with the other. His free wing smacked him as he continued to writhe, but Armin ignored it. He tried to see through the rotted blood and pus to find where he should make the cut.

In the end, it was more like a blind stab. But it worked. The right wing came through, and hit him hard enough to force him back on his behind. His knife scattered across the floor.

Jean had screamed the voice out of his throat. His chest heaved, but he didn't make a sound. His wings flapped a little while longer, and then went still. They weren't fully-grown like Armin's; they were more like the nymph of a cicada, still forming, wilted against his back.

It was done. But it didn't look good.

Armin knew that a smell like this was bad. It was like something rotten. He crawled across the floor, back to Jean's side. His face was still white, and his eyes were unfocused. The cloth had fallen from his mouth, and bile pooled underneath his cheek.

"...It's going to be okay," Armin whispered to him. He dipped some of the ripped-up sheets into the hot water and gingerly began to try and clean the muck away, like he had been told.

Jean gave no response. It worried him terribly. Was he ill, or simply tired? Armin dutifully did his disgusting job. He pulled away dead skin, and rinsed his back over and over until he could see the color of his new scales, a soft, light yellow, not yet the iridescent amber like the ones on his face and arms.

The skin on his back was bright red. A murky fluid continued to seep where the joint of his wing met his back. Armin gently cleaned it, and cleaned it again when more oozed out. When hours passed and nothing changed, he dug through the bag of things that Jean had bought at the market, and tried spreading some of the medicine around that spot. The draining slowed. Armin leaned up against the bed.

Eventually, he fell asleep. He didn't know for how long, since there was no sunlight or moonlight to indicate the passing of time. When he woke up, he noticed that Jean had moved to lie on his stomach again. His breathing was slower. Armin crept up, and patted Jean's shoulder, jostling him just a bit. He opened his eyes.

"Jean?" Armin peeped, and desperately hoped for some kind of response. He wanted this person, who had selflessly helped him, to be alright. He didn't want to have to use the knife that he had bought him with the intention he had for his hairpin just a few days ago.

"...I'm sorry," Jean replied, his voice a hoarse whisper. Armin recoiled. His breath was terrible, "I'm sorry, I waited too long... It's gotten infected."

Armin shook his head, and reached out a little further to put his hand on his temple. His skin was hot and clammy with sweat. Even he knew that was a bad sign. He looked around aimlessly, and hoped for inspiration.

His bed was on the other side of the room, without sheets, but fresh. Jean's bed was ruined. He could at least get him somewhere clean, instead of letting him stew in his own filth. With enough poking and prodding, he was able to get Jean to stand, and he wobbled across like the solid floor beneath them was a bucking ship on choppy seas. Armin laid him down, covered him with the blanket, and coerced him into drinking some water.

"Did I scratch you?"

Jean reached out and brushed the tips of his fingers over Armin's face. He crossed his eyes, and flinched when Jean touched his nose.

"No, I..." Armin rubbed the back of his hand over his forehead, and crusted blood flaked off his skin. He completely forgot to clean _himself!_ He looked down, and thankfully his brand new clothes had mostly been spared. He could probably rub out the fleck or two that got on his tunic, "it's not mine, it's yours. There was..."

He looked back at Jean's bed. There were still stains and on the ceiling and walls from when his left wing first burst through. The innkeeper would surely never forget them now. Armin's crest and wings drooped in shame.

"It was a big spray. Everywhere," Armin finally finished, and he stood to hurry to the washroom to make himself presentable. He could hear Jean laughing weakly behind him as he worked the pump.

"Holy crap," he sputtered as he saw the damage he did to the room. It was mostly cosmetic, nothing you couldn't get out with some hot water and elbow grease, but still, "I didn't remember it being such a... show..."

"Did I scare you?"

"Yes?" Armin peeked his head out from the water closet, "I mean, yes. But I've been frightened ever since you took me. I didn't feel very different right then."

"...You're made of different stuff, Armin."

"I would think so," he replied without looking back at Jean, "I've never seen anything else like me in my life."

Jean didn't respond. He couldn't tell if Armin was being sarcastic or serious, and that honestly troubled him a little. He certainly had a straight enough face when he returned, clean off the blood from the night before. He opted instead for a different line of conversation.

"Do they look cool?"

"What does?"

"My wings!" Jean coughed.

"Oh! Um..."

Armin gingerly peeled his blankets back to actually take a look. While the redness and irritation didn't seem to have gone down any, the wings themselves had dried out. And while they were still far too small to fly-- which made Jean more of a drake than a dragon-- they looked sturdy, and the hardened scales had taken on the same color as the rest that littered his body and covered his tail.

"They look... cool," Armin decided, and put the blanket back on him, "but they aren't very big."

"For now," Jean settled, "and for good reason... Or else there'd be more blood on the ceiling."

Jean was looking woozy, so Armin sat down next to him again and encouraged him to sleep some more. He could only hope that he would feel better with time, because Jean was the man with the plan here. Armin didn't know how he was meaning to get them out of this underground city.

\--

More time passed. Armin had completely lost sense of its concept. He was tired, but wasn't sure if he should sleep. Jean barely stirred. The few times me mumbled awake, he only asked for water, and then promptly dropped off again. Armin didn't know how else to treat him. He could only keep hoping that things would get better on their own, something he knew from experience rarely happened.

The sounds of the inn and the kitchen were the only constant. People talked and laughed, pewter mugs clinked against each other, pots and pans banged, plates clattered.

When it all suddenly went quiet, Armin knew right away that something horrible was about to happen. He rushed to the door and pressed his ear against it. He heard heavy footfalls, and then a loud _thud_.

"This is the place! I swear!"

The voice was muffled, but Armin knew who it was. The rat-man from the pawn shop. A shiver ran up his spine. He stumbled backward and hurried for Jean.

"Jean! Wake up, wake up!"

He pushed him back and forth in bed as hard as he would allow himself to. Jean winced, and his eyes slowly opened. He didn't seem recovered at all, but he still looked back at Armin's panicked face.

"What. What?"

"Everything went really still," he explained in a stage whisper, "nobody's making any noise, but I heard a voice; I think it's the ratskin who bought my robe!"

 Jean's pupils contracted. He pushed himself up. His arms were shaking, but he ignored his own weakness and got himself out of bed. He pulled on his nearby tunic and stumbled into his boots, and Armin did the same. A loud _bang_ came from the other side of their door, and he jumped. His crest stuck straight up in the air, and his feathers bristled.

"We know you're in there, dragonskin! You're under arrest for kidnapping and grand theft, in the name of the Goddesses!"

"Take the bag and get behind me," Jean ordered lowly, and Armin quickly complied. The sack was incredibly heavy, but some force of will he didn't recognize was pulsing through his body as his heart pounded. He could deal with its weight. He felt like he could fly out of here if he had to.

"Face divine judgement!" the voice yelled, and their door fell in with a mighty kick. Three men wearing metal armor, one with a spear and two others with swords stood just outside their threshold. Behind them, the ratskin was on his knees, obviously beaten. At least he hadn't disclosed their location without a fight.

Jean had not told Armin of any plan, but he soon understood why he had been told to stand aside.

He took in a great breath. His chest expanded like a bellows. There was a tiny clicking noise, and then a great, vacuum-like _whoosh._ Armin felt air pull in from behind him, and out from Jean's mouth poured a wide stream of white-hot flame.

The soldiers screamed. Their armor didn't save them in the slightest-- in fact, the metal glowed an angry red, and trapped the heat in. Their skin would burn to black blisters in a moment. None of them could keep a hold of their weapons as they frantically tried to rid themselves of their plating, but it was no use. They would melt to death in a prison of their own design.

The opportunity was more than wide enough. Jean grabbed Armin's hand and ran him out of the inn. The soldiers hadn't planned for this, and there wasn't any back up waiting outside. He pushed them through the crowds and towards the sewage river at the edge of town.

Once they got there, Jean had to stop. He kicked in the door of an abandoned shack, and staggered inside to drop to his knees. He was panting. Pulling a trick like that off wasn't easy, and he already wasn't in the shape to try.

"We... We have to go," Armin stuttered, took Jean's hand and tried to pull him up to his feet, "they'll send more of them. They want me back, Jean, I can't go back to that place!"

For the first time, Armin felt fear. Real, hot-and-cold fear, which raced up his spine and made him sweat. He didn't feel anything before, but Jean had put hope in him, and that was so precious he would die protecting it if he had to. It was so small, and fragile, and worth everything. It made him /feel!/

"Come on, come on," he urged Jean, and tugged on his arm over and over until he finally stood up. He was moving slowly, eyes blank and exhausted, but he was moving, and that was better than nothing. He got them out of the shack through a back door.

He remembered how Jean had taken him down here. There were holes in the roof of this cave that let in street runoff, like what was underneath the brothel. He knew which hole that was, so he went as far away as he could from that one, and took a path up on the opposite side of the cave.

It was hard work. The bag was heavy, and Jean heavier. He had to push through more abandoned slums and lean-tos to find a spot to climb up. He pulled Jean with all his weight to get him to hike the slippery slopes, trudged through sewage, and aimlessly followed the twisting tunnels towards the light, slowly growing brighter.

He found a grate, rusted, but low enough to push up through with his legs taking on most of the weight. It broke off with a /snap/, and Armin suddenly stood to his full height.

He was blinded. Outside, the sun was brighter than any light he had ever experienced, hanging in the eastern sky. His eyes burned. Armin quickly ducked for the shadow of a nearby building, and rubbed at his face as he tried to acclimate.

They were in some kind of back-alley, from the looks of it. Jean managed climb up out of the sewer on his own, and huddled close to Armin.

"...You're my good-luck charm," he wheezed, and Armin couldn't be more glad that Jean was speaking again. He had no idea where they were, "out of all the ways to get out of the Underground, you picked this one..."

"Where are we?" Armin whispered back, and looked towards him. His eyes were still adjusting, and Jean's face wasn't much more than a dark blob.

"This is the northern gate. Merchants come in from the south and leave from the north."

Armin looked out past Jean's pointed finger. There were carts lined up as they waited to leave through the narrow gate, checked one-by-one by a soldier and a tax collector.

"If we can catch a ride, we're home free... Problem is, they've got to be looking for us here."

Jean put a leaden hand on Armin's shoulder. He was on his last legs. Armin gave him a worried glance, and looked back out. So they couldn't go straight for the gate. And they couldn't make any kind of scene either, or they'd be caught.

Further away from the gate, there was a man with his cart parked, looking over his wares. Armin knew he had never met him before, but he had a familiar sort of face. Merchants all looked the same. They loved coin more than anything, so when they parted with it to spend time with him, they made sure that they were given everything they had paid for. If he didn't please them, he was sure to be reprimanded later.

He had an idea of what to do. He looked in their bag, and found Jean's coin. 26 Roses were left. That was more than two years of wages. Jean still needed this coin for whatever he needed it for, so Armin didn't want to waste it needlessly. He had to play this game carefully...

"Come on. I want to talk to him."

"You sure?"

"I think I know what to do."

Jean didn't question him. He pressed his crest down as flat as he could, to hide it in his hair, and pulled his wings in towards his body as close as they would go. He put on his rain cloak, and so did Jean. That was the best they could do to disguise themselves. Armin took Jean's hand again, and slowly led him through these shadowed alleyways to the lone cart.

"Sir," he said, and addressed the merchant, as lowly as he could while still being heard. But before he could even say another word, the man cut him off.

"I don't have business for godless folk," he grumbled as he tied a crate down to his cart, "your rocks don't mean shit to me. Go on, get, before I call a guard."

His threat to bring in men made Armin shiver, but he stood firm and tried his best not to let it show. Jean watched him through the corner of his eye.

"No rocks," Armin shook his head, and reached out to the man, three silver Roses in hand, "real silver. These three, and three more when we have our deal."

The man's expression changed immediately. Not only were the coins silver, but they were Roses. He wouldn't have to pay a smelting fee to have them re-minted, like normal Pagan silver. And to a merchant, who lived on deals, 6 roses were worth a year’s worth of careful bargaining for the best profits. This was the very definition of a windfall. Anyone would fall victim to their greed.

"And how the hell did you get that kind of coin, boy?"

He leaned in as if to take the money, and Armin retracted his hand. The merchant made a "tch" noise in frustration.

"We need to get out of the city. And a ride. As far as you can go by sunset."

"Fugitives. Feh! I could make a Rose just for calling the guard now, and there wouldn't be a lick of risk in it. Tell me why I shouldn't do that."

In all honesty, Armin hadn't planned this far ahead. He _didn't_ know why the man shouldn't just do that, and get away with his coin scott free.

When he reached out, his sleeve had slipped down his arm a little. He could see a bit of his skin. It was so white it looked like porcelain in the light of the sun...

Once, a man broke a priceless piece of pottery at the brothel. He had to pay an exorbitant amount to have it replaced.

Armin took his knife from his belt, and pressed it against the smooth skin of his neck. Jean gasped and staggered forward. Armin ignored him. If this didn't work, he was going to die anyways. He'd never let the brothels take him back.

He pulled his hood off his head, and stood his crest up enough to be seen.

"My name is Armin. I'm goods from Floating Quarters. One of the best houses in the city," he began, and slowly, the merchant began to blanch, "I've been missing for several days. If I were found dead in your cart..."

The merchant stood silent, but his eyes panicked. He was playing chicken. They faced off. Armin pressed the knife into his skin oh-so-slowly, and a tiny bead of blood ran down his neck.

"Okay, okay! Sina's sake, put that away!" the merchant held out his hands in defeat, "climb in, and quick. There's a false bottom. Squeeze yourselves in. And give me those Roses!"

Armin nodded in a flutter. He sheathed his knife, handed the man his coin, and got in. He turned around to give Jean a hand up. He was nearly as white as the merchant, and he shook his head at Armin. _You crazy bastard,_ his eyes seemed to say.

The false bottom really was a squeeze. Someone like Jean could barely fit, and Armin's wings were completely squashed against his back. Jean's bad smell-- which was now sulfurous as well as sour-- was somewhat lost in an herbal scent...

"Tea," Jean whispered with a snicker, "the bastard has a false bottom to hide luxuries, so he can avoid the tax. You picked one shady-ass merchant to ask for a ride..."

"Who else would take us?" Armin said in rebuttal, and Jean just shook his head.

After that, silence was critical. The cart lurched as the horse got on the road. Armin draped his wing over Jean's back.

The checkpoint was worse than when those crusaders knocked down the door in the inn. Armin felt like his veins were on fire. The soldier was knocking the cart all over, and the tax collector was hassling the merchant for every dime he was worth. His feathers flinched at every little sound.

"And what in the world is that awful odor?"

"Pickled eggs," the merchant replied, and Jean couldn't think of a better description of what the bottom of this cart smelled like right now.

It was good enough. They made it through the gates. Now they just had a ride to endure. To... where-ever they were going.

\--

"Alright. Time's up. Get out."

Armin blinked awake. He and Jean had been in here since morning, and after all that excitement and sleep deprivation, the gentle swaying of a horse-drawn cart put him right out. It seemed to be the case for Jean too, as he was still even when the cart jerked to a halt.

"We're going," Armin nudged him, and he grumbled. He pushed open the trick door on his own, and stood while he gave Jean time to regain consciousness.

Then it was Armin who needed time.

He was standing in a forest. A great forest. The hills were rolling all around them, trees and foliage were so thick, they blotted out most of the setting sun. It was full of sensory delights, the likes of which Armin had never experienced.

Really, it was more like overload. Between the wide array of plant life, the rustling of the trees, the sounds of wildlife, scent of the moist earth, the way the light gently dappled on his own face-- Nothing could have prepared him for this. He wanted to investigate it all, to examine every leaf, and lay his hands on every stone...

"Hey! You deaf?"

The merchant's voice snapped him out of his reverie. He turned on his heel, and realized he was still standing in the cart like an idiot. Jean was slowly crawling out of the hidden bottom.

"Three more Roses," the man held his hand out, palm up, "you're lucky I'm such a nice guy, and took you all the way out here."

Armin had no idea what _out here_ meant, but a deal was a deal. He fished the next three coins out for their ferryman, and paid him. He scooted off the edge of the cart, and helped Jean out as well. The merchant didn't even say a word of goodbye. He just flicked the reins, and his horse trotted off.

"He took us to the Kitsune..."

If it weren't for Jean, Armin would have lost himself in the immense wild of the forest. He didn't realize it, but he had wandered over to the nearest tree to touch its bark. It wasn't smooth like the wood at the brothel... Were all trees like this?

 Wait, no, focus. They weren't safe yet. He had no idea where they were. He had no idea where this was. But Jean did. He turned around and faced Jean, who was sitting on a stone step.

It was the first of many. More like the first of an innumerable amount. They were carved into the side of a slowly sloping hill, rising up towards the setting sun. Red gates rose above them, and they were flanked by stone statues of foxes. It was absolutely mesmerizing. Just looking through those gates made him feel like he was being put under a spell.

"The Kitsune?"

"Yeah," Jean sighed. He didn't look like the rest had done him any good at all, "they're Kin, but they don't live on Pagan land... They use magic and trickery to stay out of the Church's grasp, and grow rice on the land they've worked since ancient times."

"That doesn't sound bad," Armin jaunted his gaze in question, and Jean shook his head.

"They're reclusive. They consider everyone a threat. I doubt they'll help us."

"But... otherwise..."

"We don't have much choice," Jean concluded for him, "he took us west, when he should have taken us north, or east, which leads to the edge of Pagan territory. Where we are now... We're still smack damn in the hands of the Church."

Did the man do it on purpose? They'd never know now.

"Should we go up these stairs, then?"

"I've heard of the gates. This is definitely where to go. But I don't know where they lead."

They exchanged looks. So they were up a creek... but they were up a creek together. Armin stepped forward and offered Jean his hand up. Jean wobbled to his feet.

"Let's try."

The steps were their new foe to surmount. Jean was exhausted, and Armin was weak. Their hike was uneventful, slow, and quiet, as they both put all their concentrated effort into moving forward.

It was a foe they could not slay. Twilight was falling upon the forest. They must have been climbing for an hour, and yet it felt like they hadn't gotten anywhere at all. The peak of the hill was still so far away, and where they started seemed to stay in the same place no matter how many steps they look.

Jean was the first to fall apart. Without warning, he leaned over and vomited. Armin tried to rub his back, and went down to his knees. He couldn't catch his breath. And when he gave up, Armin realized his own exhaustion, and sat down on the steps as well.

He didn't know what was wrong. They were climbing-- so by all means, they should be closer to their goal by now. Why was it staying so far out of grasp?

The gates, statues and stairs all looked the same. Perhaps that was what was disorienting them? They weren't all perfectly symmetrical, all worn and weathered in different places. Why, this one over here had a red maple leaf on its head.

...A red maple leaf?

Armin didn't know much about the outside world, but he did know about the turning of the seasons. It was still springtime. The maples should not yet be red. Curious, he reached forward, to pluck the leaf off of the fox statue...

_"Hey! Watch it!"_

Armin gasped, and fell backwards. In a puff of wispy smoke, the statue turned into a /real/ fox. A huge, dark brown specimen, with a long tail that branched off into four points. Its mouth was turned into an angry snarl, its eyes narrowed.

_"Where do you think you get off breaking my spell, featherbrain? Do you know I'm gonna have to gut you now?"_

He froze. What should he do? He had no idea that there would be a real fox hiding there. He didn't know they'd be angry. Should he run? Should he hide?

Armin heard a familiar noise behind him. _Whoosh. Click._

"Jean, _no!_ "

Armin leap back. He turned Jean's head just in time. Instead of setting the fox on fire, Jean's flames spat uselessly into the sky. The fox yipped, and circled backwards. But the surprise did not last for long. The fox realized that this was the opening it needed, and lunged forward.

_"Imiru, stop!"_

An inch from Armin's face, the fox froze, one paw still raised in the air. It looked up towards the crest of the hill.

_"Princess-- I mean-- Lady Kuri!"_

At the top of the steps sat a golden fox, and the crescent moon glowed behind its back. Its impressive tail split off into nine perfect branches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Even though this was a slow-motion zeppelin crash...)
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please, leave a kudos! If you've already left a kudos, please considering leaving a comment! Here's a prompt, if it helps:
> 
> Just who are Imiru and Lady Kuri? Give me your thoughts! ;)


	5. Lady of Inari

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That one came out WAY faster than the last. I hope I can keep this up to some kind of degree.
> 
> This fic was heavily inspired by a roleplay done with [wadthehuntress](http://wadthehuntress.tumblr.com/). The dragon-hybrid species is one of her original creations; I've only made very slight alterations to her formula. Many thanks to her for allowing me to use her characters!

The golden fox's many-branched tail undulated slowly. It sat with royal mien, and regarded the situation before it with narrow blue eyes. The brown fox put its paw down with begrudging reluctance, and took a few steps back, its ears still pinned with barely-contained aggression. Armin wheeled back as well, and put himself between it and Jean, who had fallen down after spitting his fire for the second time that day. He coughed and groaned. He wasn't going to be getting up anytime soon.

"Please, I..." Armin started, and took a deep swallow to try and calm his stuttering, "we don't mean any harm, really. I promise. I'm sorry about my friend trying to hurt you. I'm sure he was just scared that you were going to..."

_"That is enough."_

The fox above them lowered its head, and its tails ceased to move. Its body was surrounded in a puff of wispy bluish smoke, and veiled it from view as it transformed. As the haze dissipated, Armin's crest lifted in surprise. Where the fox had sat, a beautiful young woman now stood.

It was obvious that she was Kin. A set of golden, fluffy ears formed two perfect triangles on the top of her head, and a wonderfully furnished tail swished behind her. Her blonde hair was pinned back with lacquered ornaments. She was dressed in a fine, crimson robe, made of silk brocade, with a high collar and long, trailing sleeves. Its hems were lined with soft white fur. A purple sash with yellow stitching kept it closed, tied in a simple knot at her front.

It reminded him very much of his robe from the brothel, except it stopped midway down her thigh, which gave her full range of movement with her legs... If it weren't for the wooden clogs she stood on. They had to be several inches tall.

Yet she walked down the steps with practiced ease. The brown fox backed up further, and bowed its head in respect. The woman's clogs made her appear much taller than she actually was. Her ears put her an inch or two above Armin when they stood on the same step, but if she were barefooted, her eyes would have been below his. She placed one hand on her hip as she took in the sight of him.

"I have not seen a Kinshi since I was a small child," she remarked, "they would not dare to live so close to men, as we do. Where have you come from? And in the company of a fledgling Mamkute, no less."

 _"Lady Kuri,"_ the other fox interjected again, but the lady would not have it. She shot it an icy glare over her shoulder.

"Enough, Imiru. You have erred far enough for today. Not only did you trick this poor creature, but you dared to attack as well? Can you not see we are Kin?"

It whined and flattened its ears as it was scolded.

 _"But they stink of men,"_ it said, and then went silent.

"I'm sure that there is a perfectly good reason for that," she replied with confidence, "the Kinshi stopped fraternizing with men hundreds of years ago. There is a story here that I intend to get to the bottom of."

"I'm happy to tell you anything," Armin responded, and squeezed his hands into fists to suppress his trembling, "as much as I can. But we need help right now. Jean told me that the Kitsune live in man's territory, so we're not safe..."

"No, you are not," she sighed, and then offered Armin her delicate hand, "come. We'll take you to the village, the both of you. Imiru, gather the Mamkute. He needs to see a healer."

Imiru made a noise of disgust, and Kuri continued to give them the cold shoulder. It seemed they could do nothing but obey.

Just as Kuri had, in a puff of smoke, Imiru took their human form. _Her_ human form, Armin saw now that she stood upright. She was nowhere near as lovely as the Lady-- her ears and tail were rough and unkempt. She had narrow eyes and a pinched expression, with plain brown hair pulled back in a basic knot. Her robe was like Kuri's, but far less elaborate and colorful, and made of simple cotton. She stood taller too, and wore flat, tonged sandals.

"He still reeks," she said under her breath as she lodged herself under Jean's shoulder, and hefted him up. While Kuri led Armin by the hand up the stairs, he kept taking glances backwards to make sure that Jean wasn't mistreated. He was nearly unconscious, and just barely lifted his feet to mount each step.

"Do not worry so," Kuri said to him as he looked back for what must have been the dozenth time, "our healers will give your companion the best care. Pay no attention to Imiru, she is always cross for one reason or another."

"His wings just came out yesterday," he said, still unable to settle even at her reassurance, "they came out of his back, through his skin--"

"I'm aware of how Mamkutes mature," she replied with a hint of amusement in her tone.

"--I'm sorry," Armin continued. He felt bashful, because he felt stupid. He knew nothing, and it felt like those around him knew everything, "I just meant... Well, something went wrong. He said that he waited too long. He's been sick ever since."

"It's likely whatever wound that was created during the process became infected. That can be treated with enough rest and the right medicines. He will be fine, I promise you."

That didn't give Armin much relief. He wasn't sure if he could trust these people yet. Not the way he trusted Jean. The fact that they were Kin didn't matter to him. That Ratskin sold them out. He felt like the whole world was his enemy.

"...There's something wrong with these steps," he continued, to change the course of their conversation, "we were climbing for a really long time, but we didn't get anywhere."

"That is part of the magic that guard our lands," Kuri explained, "Imiru was holding the spell when you uncovered her disguise, which is why she so rudely attacked you."

Imiru started to complain, but the lady continued to ignore her.  
  
"Anyone who tries to enter through the gates without our knowledge will climb forever, but never reach the summit. The surrounding woods are full of disorienting spells as well. It is so men will never set foot in our lands without our permission."

Armin held absolutely no fondness for men, so he wasn't bothered by this ideology that all Kin seemed to share. A part of him also wondered why things had ended up this way, with their two species split in two. But he wouldn't dare question it.

Now that the spell was broken, it didn't take them very long to reach the top of the stairs. The very last arch was much bigger than the rest, and there was writing on it that Armin didn't understand. Instead of the phonetic letters that he had been taught, each character was more like a pictograph, complicated, but elegant and unique. However, this did not hold his attention for very long.

They were standing on top of what revealed itself to be the very uppermost lip of a vast valley. Its most prominent feature was a massive, many-tiered body of water that fell down the edge of the hill like a staircase made for giants. The way the water reflected the silver moonlight, and created a soft mist that gently hung over the land... Armin had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. He took a small gasp, and his crest spread out in awe.

"A fine compliment," Kuri covered her mouth with the edge of her sleeve to hide a demure smile, "the valley is rather breathtaking on a clear night such as this. Come."

She let go of his hand and took the lead. The slope downwards was gentle, so he didn't need help. It weaved in and out of the shallow ponds, and was dotted with small houses along the way.

They weren't like the buildings inside the Walls or in the underground at all. They weren't made of brick or stone, but of panels of wood, and had modest domed rooves crossed with great, sturdy beams. Each home was attached to its closest neighbors with long ropes, from which hung tags of bamboo. It created a great, crisscrossing web that clattered gently in the soft breezes that passed through. Everything was painted the same vermillion red of the gates on the steps, although weathering had caused different shades here and there.

"They are hung to keep the birds from eating our crop," Kuri explained to him as she noticed his staring, "they don't like the noise, and it makes it hard for them to land."

"Crop?" Armin peeped as he turned his attention back towards her.

"Yes, the rice," She canted her head just slightly, "you didn't know about our paddies?"

Upon closer examination, there were indeed small green sprouts growing in the water. Is this what Jean had meant when he said that the Kitsune grew crops like their ancestors did?

"I didn't know that his is how rice is grown," he replied earnestly, and with a hint of shame. He ate it every day back at the brothel, but he had no idea where most of what he ate came from. One of Kuri's ear's twitched, which belied her surprise.

"We have much to discuss indeed," she murmured, and let the subject drop, much to Armin's relief, "please, come inside."

They had reached a house while they were talking. It was situated at the very top of the valley, and was much grander than all the others. They were all simple, single-floor dwellings. This one was much larger, and had several floors of tiers carefully stacked upon each other. And the walls, were they made of... Paper?

No, those were just doors. As soon as Kuri's clog touched the wood of the veranda encircling the small palace, they slid open and revealed female Kitsune retainers who each waited on one knee for their Lady's return. They were dressed more finely than Imiru, but not as well as Kuri. They took her clogs in a quick, well-practiced motion, and replaced them with slippers meant only for use inside of the house.

"These two are my guests," she said matter-of-factly, "Fetch a healer for the Mamkute."

Unlike Imiru, these servants did not question Kuri, They didn't even speak. One bowed, and left the house at the brisk pace, while the other disappeared inside, her tail perked up in attention. Imiru dragged Jean up the small stairs. Armin could hear the soft padding of many feet carefully rushing around inside to make preparations without being noticed or seen.

He tarried, and shifted from foot to foot in indecision.

"Why do you hesitate?" Kuri asked him as she realized that he was no longer following her, and turned around, "come in. Tea and food will be served, and a room will be made for you and your friend."

"I..." Armin began, and looked to his boots. How could he explain?

There was something very uncanny about this mansion. The way it was built was almost identical to the brothel. Some of the details were different-- like how the doors were made out of paper instead of wood, and the vermillion motif-- but it felt like home in the worst way. Were there more workers like him, hiding in separate quarters? He didn't know. His skin crawled at the thought of entering such a place again.

"I mean no disrespect, but this all reminds me of something very... distasteful..."

"Are these accommodations unsuitable?"

The Lady's eyes narrowed, and her tail swished to one side. Armin could tell that he had offended her by snubbing her hospitality. He shook his head adamantly.

"No, not at all. I only..."

He took a deep breath.

"It looks very much like the brothel I just escaped, and it makes me nervous."

Kuri's ears drew up to make a single point on her head. Surprised crossed her expression, but it did not last for long. Instead, a darkness settled on her features.

"They had you in the Menagerie?" she asked, her voice lowered out of what he could only assume was a respect towards him for enduring something awful.

"That's not what they called it while I was there," he answered, "but I've heard that word a few times since Jean took me away."

She paused, and turned again to Imiru. They were both looking at Jean in a different light. Imiru's face became stoic as she led him into an adjacent room. Kuri made a beckoning gesture with one of her hands, and another Kitsune-- a male, this time-- appeared out of nowhere. She whispered something to him quietly enough that Armin couldn't hear. He nodded, and disappeared in that same signature puff of smoke.

"Is something wrong?" Armin asked; the sudden tension in the air was palpable enough for even him to catch on, "I'm sorry, I..."

"You will apologize for nothing," she replied as though she meant to be stern with him, but she could not stop a tone of pity from creeping into her voice, "please, come in. I promise that no such business occurs under this roof."

She reached her hand out towards him, and this time he did not refuse it. As she led him inside, a servant helped him out of his boots. The feeling of hardwood underneath his socked feet, and the smell of fresh lacquer were very familiar. It sent a shiver up his spine.

Before he could enter the building proper, he heard someone rushing up the steps behind him. An old Kitsune with a huge chest made up of many tiny drawers on his back asked where the patient was. He must have been the healer that was sent for. Armin was tempted to follow him, since he was going to be treating Jean, but Lady Kuri kept leading him in a different direction. He didn't have the willpower to refuse her. He would have to find Jean on his own once he was freed from her company. 

 The halls of the mansion were a maze of even more paper doors. Another set suddenly opened to his side, and revealed a simple room with a low table where two people could easily sit. Kuri took him there.

"Sit," she said, and motioned to a cushion. It was a bit like the Second Room, but the seats were situated at opposite sides of the table. No one would be running their hands over his shoulders and wings tonight.

At first, he sat down in a very formal way, with his legs tucked underneath him. Kuri gently shook her head at him, and he realized that _he_ was the guest here, and he didn't have to put on a show for anyone. He relaxed, and she took on the role of the host. A servant came in with a tray with various tea-things on it, and began to move to pour the pot herself, but Kuri held up a hand to still her. She stopped, and gave a small bow before she backed out of the room.

Before any conversation began, Kuri prepared the tea. Her motions were perfect. They were slow and measured. Not a speck of tea nor drop of water was wasted, and her long sleeves remained completely clean. She moved the pots and cups and poured without making a single sound. Except for a few small details, it was just like the ceremony he performed for his customers. The biggest difference was that it was being served to him. He hadn't seen someone else do this since he was a child being trained to do it himself.

The finished cup was gently pushed in his direction. He knew his manners, and took a sip while it was still hot. The taste was strikingly different than what he was used to. What he drank in the past was bitter and black, but this tea had a light yellow-green hue, and was smooth on his tongue. It didn't require sugar at all.

Once his cup was set back down on the table, Kuri inclined her head to him, and began to make her own. She didn't bother with formalities for herself, she simply made a cup of tea, and spoke while she did so.

"What is your name, Kinshi?"

"Armin," he replied, and inclined his head in return, "may I ask who you are?"

"I am Lady Kuri, of Inari," she answered with perfect poise, "I hold reign over this valley, since my father's death several years ago. I hope that I can be of some service to you."

"You have already helped me more than many ever bothered," Armin shook his head. Somehow, it was easy for him to speak to her. Easier than it was to speak to Jean, or the people in the Walls. He took up her manner quickly, and without much thought. It was all so similar to the Floating Quarters.

"You are most welcome. Please, excuse this next question, but it must be aired; what do you know?"

"I know nothing," he said in frank honesty, "It has been less than a week since I was freed from the brothel by Jean. All I know is the work that they taught me."

"I was afraid of that," she sighed, and allowed her posture to relax just a little, "I will tell you that I am no tutor, but there are things that you must learn, and I would like to be the one to teach you."

"By all means," Armin shook his head, "I am honored."

"Very good. Then, before we begin..."

Lady Kuri snapped her fingers twice. The doors slid open again, and the servant that had brought them tea now had a platter of food. She laid out several dishes meant for the both of them to share-- Fried tofu pouches marinated in sweet sake and stuffed with pickled rice and lotus root, fresh spring vegetables picked from the forest lightly fried in a flour batter, and chicken parts skewered and grilled to toasty perfection. A plate, a set of chopsticks, and personal bowl of a brothy, cloudy miso soup topped with scallions were set in front of the both of them.

Armin didn't know what any of it was exactly, but it had a savory, salty smell that wasn't overpowered by the oil it was cooked in. It suited him. He hadn't eaten in nearly an entire day, but he maintained decorum and ate slowly. He sipped at his soup and delicately picked at the dishes that had been presented. It was a good thing he knew how to eat with chopsticks, or else he might have made a complete fool of himself.

"First, to help put you at ease," Kuri began as Armin ate-- it seemed as though her food was put out just for show, as she made no move to begin eating for herself, "I can explain why my quarters remind you so much of the dreadful place you came from."

"You see, men know very little about Kin. Most of those that live in the walled city would never dare set foot in in the Pagan lands. So they have no idea of the customs and lifestyles that real Pagans adopt. Each type of Kin, Kitsune, Kinshi, Mamkute and so forth all have unique cultures and territories. Even tribes that men would consider similar, like the Garm and the Kitsune-- Wolfskin and Foxskin-- lead very different lives. And they have no idea."

"However, they do have contact with one tribe... our own."

She paused, and sighed. Her ears drooped ever so slightly.

"In order to continue to survive here, in the lands of our ancestors, we must trade with men. We cannot subsist entirely on what we grow and what the forests provide for us. We used to trade with the other tribes, but they have all been chased out these lands over the past few centuries by the Crusaders. That is why we exist so awkwardly in the middle of Man's territory. With our magic and tricks, we were the only ones able to evade their pillaging."

"Although begrudging, for I am sure they would like nothing more than to wipe us all out in the name of their Goddesses, they hold a certain... perverse interest in our ways. We are exotic to them. When they make trips here to trade for our precious rice, they take the memory of their short stay back with them."

"And so, it is not that our culture is shaped after theirs, as you might assume, but it is ours that they are mimicking," her expression was cross as she explained, "and they believe that all Kin must live as we do, which is why you were kept in a house like this one, instead of in a lush forest temple, as would befit your heritage."

Her tail flicked back and forth at the very tip. Her distaste was so plain that even Armin could see it.

"It is my knowledge that many kinds of Kin are kept in the Menagerie for their pleasure. But they are all treated as if they were Kitsune. It is complete folly."

"I don't blame you for what happened to me," Armin responded, "And I don't blame you for trading with men either. You do what you must to survive."

A sigh came out of Kuri like he had not heard before. It was like her soul was leaving her body. She abandoned her posture of elegance and leaned to her side, with one hand underneath her. Her tail thumped against the floor, like Jean's did when he was upset. She suddenly looked very young.

"I will tell you what I have not told to any of my people, Kinshi," she began to admit, "I wish that we did not. I wish that these were still the Pagan lands. I know many stories of how our kind once flourished under the kindness of Inari, the god who lives in the rice. But lately it is like the entire Myriad has turned it's back on us. And they are perfectly right to do so. We have turned our backs on them."

Her ears fell entirely. For a moment, she brought a hand over her face as she tried to regain herself.

"...I wish to help you," she began again, "but this is the truth. I'm sure that the crusaders have already sent men in this direction to try and find your trail. You are incredibly valuable. More valuable than you understand. The prize of their Menagerie. It would be the perfect excuse for them to burn the entire forest down if they knew that you were here."

Armin's crest lifted in alarm. He sat up straight.

"Should I-- should I leave?"

"Sweet child, no. No, of course not," Kuri propped herself up, "but this can't be your permanent hostel. We can't afford to take in refugees. Once you and your friend are ready, we will send you out with an escort to take you to the only place where you can find out where you truly need to go."

"Is there such a place? Where?"

"If the legends are true, then yes, there is. The old Kinshi temple, to the northeast."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please, leave a kudos! If you've already left a kudos, please considering leaving a comment! Here's a prompt, if it helps:
> 
> What do you think of Kitsune society? There were some fun details in there that I enjoyed plotting out. Can you tell who Lady Kuri and Imiru are now? ;)


	6. Old Gods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Exposition Station. Please exit at the gate to your right to Plot Central. Beep Beep.
> 
> This fic was heavily inspired by a roleplay done with [wadthehuntress](http://wadthehuntress.tumblr.com/). The dragon-hybrid species is one of her original creations; I've only made very slight alterations to her formula. Many thanks to her for allowing me to use her characters!

"The Kinshi... Temple?"

Armin sat at attention, but his eyes began to glaze over. He was recalling his green dreams, where the light was bright and he could feel the wind in his feathers. Those words, and those dreams... They were connected somehow.

"Yes," Kuri began, "the old Temple is to the east, on the other side of the Walls. Not very far from the city at all. They are a testament to the history of your people and their unfortunate entanglements with men."

Armin could only nod eagerly, to encourage Kuri to continue. He wished to hear everything he could about the Kinshi's past, for the lack of his own kind in his life made up the largest parts of the emptiness inside of him.

"It was many hundreds of years ago when Men reached our southern shores," she said, "in their huge ships. In their continent to far south, across the ocean, there are no Kin. So when we met for the first time, you could imagine the mutual confusion. They were like us, but without the blessings of the Myriad. We were like them, but with the savage nature of animals."

"But our first encounters were peaceful. The men showed genuine interest in our kind. They brought us gifts from their lands, and we gave them our hospitality in return. We are quite alike after all, and there was no reason for confrontation when the land was so plentiful. Even if we kept our territories as they were all those years ago, there was more than enough room for man to live alongside us, even with their sprawling, agricultural tendencies."

"They taught us the value of gold and silver. How to use currency to facilitate trade. They had advanced understanding of crop irrigation and various kinds of metallurgy that they used to make powerful weapons. They knew how to survive without earth magic. In return, we taught them what we knew. About nature, about how to live in harmony with the land. It was a renaissance, an incredible time where everyone was happy."

Lady Kuri cast her eyes down. Her tone slowly grew darker as she spoke, and a shade passed over her face.

"...Why did it not last?" Armin asked, and gently pressed forward with his posture to encourage her.

"Did you know that their Goddesses were originally depicted with white wings?" she answered with a question, her eyes on her hands in lap.

Armin shook his head, "I've never heard of such a thing."

"I'm not surprised. If you've never left your brothel, you've never seen their churches. There, you can see where the statues of their lady gods have been hacked of the wings they once had, and where their mosaics and frescos are re-tiled and re-painted. Men have done everything they can to wipe out that part of their history. They are a short-lived species, so most of them don't even remember."

"But why?" Armin's brow knitted together in confusion as vague ideas began to form in his head.

"When man first met the Kinshi, they thought they had found the land of their gods," she explained, "your kind was worshipped as the children of their Goddesses. They thought that you were blessed. They built their cities and their churches as close to the Kinshi as possible in hopes of receiving some of that blessing."

"And for a while, that was fine. The Kinshi and men were very close. They acted as ambassadors for our kind, since the men would listen to anything they said. It eased our relations with each other."

"But as time passed, the greed of men began to show through. They became more and more demanding of the Kinshi. When the harvest was bad, when the people were sick, or when the weather raged, the Kinshi were blamed. They were called perverse and fickle for letting such disasters happen. Soon, men began to kidnap them and cloister them in their churches, and refused to let them go until they gave up whatever they wanted, which was obviously beyond their power to give in the first place."

"It became too much to bear. The Kinshi called out for their brethren, the Tibern and the Naesal to aid them."

"Who are they?"

"Oh, excuse me," Kuri shook her head. She was obviously caught up in her story, "I'm sure you have been called Birdskin, and while that is accurate, it is not entirely true. There are other species of Birdskin as well. The Kinshi are Craneskin. But there are also the Tibern, the Hawkskin, and the Naesal, the Ravenskin. It is because... It is because all three tribes were nearly decimated that they are often lumped together as Birdskin."

Armin's crest flattened at the word. _Decimated_.

"While the Kinshi are a peaceful folk, the Hawkskin and Ravenskin came with force. The first Crusaders were the soldiers that fought against them. Holy warriors that carried swords and guns in the name of the Goddesses. They chased the Birdskin back to their sacred forests, and burnt everything to a cinder. The few Birdskin that survived the pyre fled to all corners of the Pagan lands. Not even I, the Lady of the Kitsune, know where they are now. They seldom show themselves, and for good reason."

"It was the final straw for both Men and Kin. We have all turned out backs on them ever since, as a sign of solidarity, but also as a means of self-preservation. We know now what they are capable of. They have continued their crusade in the name of what they lost, against our gods, and we still suffer for it."

"...So I was kept in that brothel because..." Armin began as he felt something rise in his chest. Was it anger? He remembered the cage that was made for him, where he would sit for hours, "Because I was a Kinshi. I knew that, but... It was because they wanted to show that I didn't mean anything to them anymore. That Kinshi didn't. We were never gods, just animals. Pretty little birds."

And it worked. None of the clients that came to take his time ever seemed to hold awe of him, only perverted desire. He had been reduced from a god to something less than a man.

"...You catch on quickly," Kuri remarked, the sadness evident in her voice. He wrapped her silky tail around herself, and idly sorted through each strand of fur, "It's probably what saved you. I couldn't imagine a fledgling Mamkute in the condition you brought to us escaping the Walls on his own. But that kind of intelligence-- it hurts too, doesn't it?"

"I prefer it to the despair of ignorance," he replied with a resolute tone, his spine straight, "I've lived that way for far too long."

"That's good to hear," Kuri relinquished a small smile for him, "otherwise, what I just told you would only be a burden."

"I wanted to know," he bowed to her with all due respect, "thank you for telling me. I don't feel quite as lost as I did just a few hours ago."

While they had been chased from their home, and almost killed, he had a people. He was not the last of his kind, as he sometime assumed back in the brothel. And there was somewhere for him to go. There might be a clue waiting there for him, to lead him back to where he was supposed to be.

He was eager to go, but his eyelids were drooping as the fatigue of the day caught up with him. Not to mention Jean... Was he alright? Armin didn't know. He lifted his head and looked in the direction of the room his companion was taken to.

"I sense that enough has been said for the time being. You must be tired," Kuri said, "I'll have a room made for you. We can talk more tomorrow, and hopefully of more pleasant subjects."

"Thank you," Armin nodded, "would it be alright if I slept in the same room as Jean? He was the one who saved me, and suffered the most for it... I want to make sure he's okay."

"Of course. We'll lay bedding down for you where-ever you like," Kuri stood up, and straightened her robe a little before she offered a hand to help Armin up. He heard the sound of socked feet running around again as he accepted her help-- probably servants rushing to prepare a futon for him before he took a single step into the hallway. As he expected, there was nary a trace of them when the door was opened again.

However, Armin did catch sight of the old Kitsune with the chest on his back slowly putting his sandals back on at the front steps of the mansion. He rushed over to speak with the healer before he left.

"Excuse me, sir," he began, and the man's ears angled backwards to listen, "that Mamkute that you were just treating is my-- my friend. Do you think he will be alright?"

"Not to worry, Kinshi," the man gave a thin smile, "He was certainly overworked for a fledgling whose wings had just come in, but the infection that he has is treatable. I was more concerned that he had used his breath twice in one day in his condition. It's not easy for a Mamkute to summon the White Flame, you know."

"I didn't know that that was something that he could do at all, until today" Armin admitted, "What exactly is the White Flame?"

"It is the hottest and most powerful breath a Mamkute can spit. Red and orange flames are not nearly as hot, so they can use those as often as they like without taxing themselves, but the White Flame is a strike meant to kill. A direct hit can melt iron."

"Has it hurt him somehow?"

"Mamkute are made to be able to withstand the incredible heat of the White Flame, so it isn't as though he's been burnt. But they have a special organ near their lungs that fuels the gas that causes their flames. If it used too often, and the organ collapses, it can make it very hard for them to breathe. It must be used with caution."

"I see. I'll keep that in mind," he bowed to the man as well, and lifted his crest in respect, "thank you for taking care of him."

"It was no trouble," he shook his head congenially and chuckled, "it was interesting, to have a patient that didn't just have a chicken bone lodged in their throat, or a bad case of fleas."

He and Armin parted with a small wave. He then turned around to see Lady Kuri still in the hall, waiting for him with a smile of amusement. She must have seen that whole exchange. Armin had the presence of mind to blush as he returned to her.

"Everything is ready," she motioned with her hand towards the aforementioned room, the door now open, "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you'll have to sleep in your clothes. We don't have any robes made for guests with wings."

"It's alright. I'm sure your robes are very lovely, but I really prefer what I'm wearing now."

After years of wearing those confining things, Armin had quickly grown fond of more practical clothing. He'd probably avoid wearing anything like a robe for the rest of his life. He stepped into the room, and shut the door behind him. He waited until he felt that Kuri had gotten out of earshot, and then let out a deep, weary sigh.

"Long day?"

Armin fluffed up and peeped in surprise. He didn't expect Jean to still be awake. He had to smooth down his crest with his hands as he knelt down on the floor beside his bed.

Jean was lying down on his front, and his head rested on a pillow supported by his crossed arms. Armin couldn't smell that rotting scent from before. Instead, something light, cool and herbal wafted in the air. A lantern sat beside him, and it flickered with a merry flame. It swirled around in its sconce as though it had a life of its own. The glow reflected warmly off of Jean's amber scales, and the pupils in his half-lidded eyes grew sharp in the light.

"Only as long as yours," he answered, and grasped at the fabric of his trousers nervously. Despite having just met them, Armin was able to converse naturally with the Kitsune because their manner of speech was the same as what he was taught at the brothel. Jean was much more simple and straightforward, and sometimes Armin didn't know how to respond, "are you feeling alright? You weren't even speaking when Imiru was helping you up here."

"Just tired," Jean replied, and Armin could hear a rasp in his voice. His breath smelled pungently of sulfur and ash, and the medicinal compresses bound to the skin near his wings weren't enough to overpower it, "Kitsune know their shit. I'm sure everything'll heal up in a couple of days."

Jean wheezed lightly. What the doctor said must have been true-- using the White Flame had almost depleted that organ of gas. Jean had used it twice to protect him, and he must have known the risk. The thought only twisted Armin's tongue further.

"The Lady sure dumped a load on you," Jean interjected into the silence. He seemed to know Armin had a hard time starting conversation with him, "can you keep all that straight?"

"You heard?" Armin blinked in surprise, and Jean chuckled.

"These ears aren't just for show," he boasted, and wiggled them at their tips in demonstration, "They're not quite as good as these foxes' are, but they work well enough to hear through a couple of paper doors. She really did give you the whole story."

"So... You knew? All of that?" _about their past? About his people?_

"Yeah," Jean answered with a slight shrug-- he couldn't move his shoulders too much, "I'm Kin, there's no way I couldn't know. Everything that happened effected Mamkutes too."

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

Armin wasn't angry. Withholding information wasn't exactly a sin. But wouldn't that be the first thing anyone would have tried to explain to him, when he was entirely ignorant of everything about himself? He remembered when he didn't even know what Kin were, and winced as he recalled the look on Jean's face when he admitted it.

"When I popped up through your floor, you were about an inch away from killing yourself," Jean explained plainly, and Armin's crest drooped. It felt so shameful to have nearly brought about his own death, when there was so much waiting just beyond the four walls that kept him captured. But at the same time, if Jean never showed up, it was highly likely that he never would have left that house, "telling you all that wouldn't have kept you alive. I had priorities to stick to too."

 Armin paused, and nodded gently. Jean was right. He was terribly distraught when he was found. It wouldn't have done him any good to know this those first few nights.

"'Sides, I suck at telling stories, especially if they didn't happen to me. The Lady knows her words. She explained everything way better than I ever could."

"I've never met anyone that talks quite like you," Armin managed to say, "the way the Kitsune speak is familiar to me, so it felt easy to talk to them. And now I understand why."

"Sorry that you've kind of been... Thrown back into everything again. Tho' no one here would ever use you," Jean averted his gaze ever so slightly, "I wanted to take you to the temple first myself, but that asshole merchant took us in the wrong direction."

"it’s fine," Armin shook his head, "this isn't a terrible detour. But I'm... I'm looking forward to going to see where my people once lived. Even if no one is there anymore."

"You'll track down the Birdskin eventually," Jean said with confidence, "there's only so much Pagan land left. They have to be around here somewhere."

The singular use of _you'll_ sent a rush of nervousness through Armin's body. Did Jean mean that he would have to undertake that journey alone? Were they going to part ways soon? He wanted to ask very badly, but he couldn't find the courage to say something so bold. Instead, he awkwardly changed the subject.

"I wondered... Lady Kuri told me that the Goddesses used to have white wings," he mumbled out, and went back to looking at his lap, "how did men get such an idea, when they obviously had never met Kin before?"

"Good question. I dunno," Jean stretched out, and his small wings spread out too. They already looked a little bit bigger than they day they had broken through, "Maybe there were Kin in their land somewhere, and were just hiding or died out or something. Or maybe they were just jealous of birds."

"Jealous?" Armin canted his head.

"Yeah. I mean, who wouldn't want to fly? Men don't have anything special about them, aside from being tenacious as cockroaches," He closed his eyes, "they're probably bored and fed up with being stuck on two feet all the time."

Armin felt like that was a stretch, but... Well, people came to him just to get a chance to look at him, and how he was different. Maybe what some of them did to him was just a vent for their jealousy, or a cure for boredom. It was an awfully expensive cure, but still. Not every man that had him was perverted enough to take him to the Third Room.

Men were very strange creatures, for being so plain.

A comfortable silence passed between them for a few minutes. Armin actually liked it a lot better than talking. But Jean heaved a small sigh, and opened his eyes again.

"...I gotta thank you," he said quietly, and glanced up at Armin through the corner of his eye, "again, I mean."

"Why?" Armin blinked at him, and felt self-conscious to be praised so directly, "It's alright. I didn't like that robe anyways"

"Not the _robe_." Jean snorted in amusement, "Sure, it got us enough silver to get out of that city, but _you're_ the one that saved my hide. I wouldn't have survived that night without you."

"I didn't cure you," he turned his head, practiced and demure, "you still got sick."

"'Doesn't matter. You got us out of the Underground totally on your own wits. And then how you handled that merchant..."

Jean paused. His expression turned cross. But who was he cross with? Armin's feathers quivered nervously.

"What you did worked, so I'm not gonna lecture you--"

"I'm sorry about the silver!" Armin interjected quickly, and Jean's eyes widened, "I didn't really know how many pieces would be enough to convince him-- was six too many?"

"Holy shit," Jean reached up to drag a hand down his face, "I'm not talking about the silver!  Don't you remember you put a knife to your neck?"

"...Oh."

Armin actually didn't remember. Or at least, it wasn't the first thing that came to mind when he thought he might have made a mistake. He squirmed in his seat and drew his shoulders up to look small. His body language was more than enough to convey to Jean that he didn't know how to reply.

"--Look, it's okay," Jean replied, and there was an uncertainty in his voice, like he wasn't sure what to say either, "I mean, it's _not_ okay to be alright with throwing your life away like that. You're worth way more than a bag of silver. I'm not mad at you, I just-- you've gotta work up some self-worth. I don't think I can protect you from yourself, you know?"

Armin didn't know. But he felt like he might be able to understand... someday.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, and Jean's body language relaxed a little.

"I'd tell you not to be sorry, but that's probably a step in the right direction. Just let me know if you're planning to pull a stunt like that again, okay?"

Armin nodded tightly. He felt a little bit of relief, and weariness overcame him. He closed his eyes while he still sat up.

"Come on, go to bed," Jean said, and Armin snapped back to attention. Had he already begun to doze off? Jean had an amused look on his face, "they laid one out for you."

"Okay," he replied, and opened the lantern to blow out the flame. But it danced around his breath and refused to be doused.

"It's won't let you snuff it that easily," Jean smirked. "it's foxfire. You have to ask nicely first."

Armin regarded the little fire with curiosity, and tapped at the glass of the lantern. It moved upwards as though it was turning to face him.

"Thank you," he said to it quietly, "you... did a good job? But I'd like it to be dark now, please."

The flame bobbed up and down a couple of times, then left the lantern through the small door that Armin had opened. It spiraled upwards in the room, and grew smaller and smaller until it disappeared in a _pop_ of embers.

Was this world ever short of wonders? As he stared up at the ceiling, starbursts appeared before his eyes from the light that had burned into his retinas.

The room became pitch black without the helpful little fire. Armin could only guess that Jean was going to go back to sleep. He crawled backwards until he found himself in the other bed, took off his socks and belt, and crawled into the futon that had been prepared for him. If he pulled in his wings very tightly, he could slip under the blankets.

His fatigue caught up with him quickly, and despite all the thoughts and ideas that clamored in his head, he fell asleep in a matter of minutes.

\--

Kuri had promised that Armin's stay in the Kitsune Valley would be a good one, and she took it upon herself to make it so. But she soon found that there was very little she had to do as a host to make him happy.

That next morning, she took him out for a midmorning stroll as a distraction while they talked. The "distraction" proved to be more engaging than any words could ever amount to. Armin wandered back and forth on the footpath like a toddler, his attention pulled this way and that as various objects caught his eye and demanded to be examined. Blades of grass, small flowers, insects, peculiarly shaped rocks... He was fascinated by everything.

Rather than talking politics or telling him more about his history, Kuri was employed as his tutor in natural science. She explained things to him that she learned as a small child and had taken for granted until then. It became painfully apparent that he really had never left that brothel in all his years, and his true nature as a Kinshi was just now showing itself in a love for all things green and breathing. The way he so carefully cupped things in his white hands to bring to her, as though they were more precious than gold, almost brought her to tears.

Even Imiru, her closest retainer, who was usually sour to anyone except her lady, began to enjoy herself as she took part in this little game. She would run off into the brush and come back with all sorts of gross, wiggling things for Armin to hold, which he did with glee. The dirtier it got his clothes, the better. Toads, snakes, skinks and more, none of it deterred him. Imiru even got him to wade into the rice paddies to sink his hands in the mud and feel the guppies and tadpoles tickle around his wrists.

And then the water spirit came.

Okay, well, it was the nymph of a water spirit at best. It was only as long as his arm, when a fully grown and matured one was as large as a man, and that much wiser. This baby just looked like a very fat salamander, with its horns barely peeking out from behind its frilly, gill-like ears. They would sometimes come to the paddies to relax in some fresh water.

Still, it was auspicious to be approached by one. It crawled out from between the green stalks to give Armin a curious once-over. It walked around his ankles while he stood still as a stone, and rubbed him with its fins, before it flicked its long tail and disappeared into the water itself. Armin let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"You live up to the heritage of your people," Kuri shook her head in amazement, "it's been told that Kinshi were liked by spirits, but I've never known it as more than a tale. They're not so friendly with Kitsune."

Armin found a small, blue stone where the spirit had disappeared. It felt cold and wet, yet his hands stayed dry while he held it. A blessing. Armin didn't show it to anyone, not even Jean.

The rest of the day turned into a lesson on spirits. They weren't very complicated-- what Jean had told him was a good enough primer-- but Armin had to know everything as soon as he saw one. They were part of the Myriad, the living representations of the elements, animals, plants... They were proof positive that there really was another life in everything. They rarely showed themselves, to Kin, men or otherwise.

It was an excellent farewell. They planned to leave the next day. Jean wasn't fully healed, but he was fine enough to travel. Imiru had taken a liking to Armin, and insisted in what really sounded like a half-refusal to guide them back east to the sacred forest. The Kitsune filled what little space was left in their packs with healing herbs and pickled rice to send them off.

Jean didn't look impressed. He wasn't huge on pickles. He told Armin through the side of his mouth that he would have liked more jerky, even if chicken came out tough when it was dried.

Kuri took Armin's hands before they crossed the barrier to leave the valley.

"Be well, Armin," she said, while she kept her perfect posture in front of her people. But he could see in her eyes that she wished for a more intimate goodbye, as they had become close in the past few days "I wish you good fortune. I know that we are a bit... out of the way, but please, never hesitate to return here. I would... Very much like to see you again, when you have become a proper Kinshi."

"I'd like to see you then too," he replied, and squeezed her hands in return, the best gesture of affection he knew, "I'll make my way back somehow."

Imiru stood, in her fox form, just a little bit away. One of her tails flicked in irritation. She rarely got to be so close to her Lady. Jean flicked his own tail back in her direction, and gave her a whip on the nose. She swatted it away with a growl while he suppressed his laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this, please, leave a kudos! If you've already left a kudos, please considering leaving a comment!
> 
> There's more to my usual greeting this time-- The next chapter might be a little bit in coming. I have more hours at work, as well as some obligations for ongoing education next month. Aaaaand Persona 5 is coming out, which I'm going to need to beat before May if I'm going to properly host my panel at an upcoming anime convention. So. I'm going to be super busy, and I've decided to take a hiatus from writing and roleplaying for a month to make room, I'll try to peck out another chapter if I can, but it won't be my priority.
> 
> However! I will still be on Tumblr @ [Otterbeans](http://otterbeans.tumblr.com/) if you wish to contact me! I really enjoy talking to people interested in my fic, and other writers, so please don't hesitate to hit me up if you'd like!


	7. Spirit of Restless Fire, Spirit of Still Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, I'm back! Sorry that took so long. When I take hiatuses I lose my vibe and it takes awhile to summon it back up.
> 
> This was mostly a flavor chapter, to help establish the aesthetic of the setting, but I like it and enjoyed writing it! I also had a proper Beta to look this one over for me before submitting (thank you so much Dee!) so everything should feel a bit more polished than previous chapters.
> 
> This fic was heavily inspired by a roleplay done with [wadthehuntress](http://wadthehuntress.tumblr.com/). The dragon-hybrid species is one of her original creations; I've only made very slight alterations to her formula. Many thanks to her for allowing me to use her characters!

The journey to the old temple of the Kinshi was the first time in Armin's life that he would admit to feeling something like real happiness.

Of course, it was not entirely safe. They were travelling in men's territory, and any Crusader that might be patrolling the roads would be completely in their rights to kill them all. So they followed ancient forest paths whose ways had long been lost to most. The way was not clear, mostly overgrown and riddled with the serpentine knots of tree roots and scattered leaf litter. Imiru stayed in her foxskin, and with her footfalls she cast a dozen tiny spells that stirred the air around them and dispersed any evidence of their travelling to those that might try to track them.

Armin thought that these forests might be the sacred forests that Lady Kuri had spoken of, and Imiru told him that hundreds of years ago, they were. But they had been  burnt down by the crusaders, all the way to the ground, the earth ruined with salt and fire. It took a long, long time for them to recover to the state that he saw today. But these trees were still too young to house powerful spirits yet. It would take several more centuries for the entire forest to be restored to its former glory.

He asked if there was nothing left of those old trees, and she shook her head. Deep, deep in the forest, where the spirits held strong, those old gods still existed. And that was where the old Kinshi temple resided. She told him that he would recognize them when he saw them.

They generally spoke whenever they took a moment to rest. Armin, who had not done a proper day’s worth of walking... ever, needed time to cope. He would constantly trip, stumble, and get himself caught in bushes and vines. His wings had never felt so cumbersome in his life. Their feathers would catch on everything, and he was constantly pulling them loose, losing bits of his plumage in the process, which Jean then had to burn with his breath. No matter how tightly pressed he kept them to his body, another thorn would get caught in his barbs, and he'd be yanked back.

Jean told him to use his knife to cut himself free, but Armin didn't like to resort to that. Even if a plant had thorns, it had spent a long time working very hard to get so tall, and he didn't want to harm it. It took more time to free himself without a blade, but he was fine with this particular inconvenience as long as nothing was hurt.

It caused him to think back to when they were in the underground, and those Crusaders broke down their door. He hadn't _seen_ them die when Jean unleashed the White Flame upon them, but he knew from the split second he saw of their excruciated expressions that they could not have survived. They probably suffered for some time before succumbing to their burns...

Was what they had done necessary? Was it fair? Could they have gotten away in some other fashion? He didn't know the answers to any of those questions. He did not voice his apprehensions to Jean, because he was grateful to him for freeing him, but they remained like a molding blight in the corners of his mind.

Lady Kuri was right. The Kinshi were a peaceful species. He felt like the concern he was feeling was something that lived in his blood. A concern that extended not only to Kin and to Men, but to animals and plants, spirits, scents and earth. As he watched nature unfold around him with every step they took, he saw the life in every blossom, the moss on the rocks, the light dappling on his skin, and in the song of the birds. Even in his curiosity, he was gentle. He would lift a flower with a single finger to observe its petals, feel their silky brush against his skin, and take in their scent, but he would not pick it. Touch, look, smell, but never disturb.

Yet he was completely willing to sacrifice his own life when he felt the situation called for it. The words he and Jean had exchanged still sat heavy in his chest. He didn't yet feel that he was as precious as the little lives that surrounded him everywhere. He could only hope that that day would come with time.

Thankfully, his traveling partners were patient with him. Jean's back was still technically healing, so he didn't mind taking it easy, and Imiru was confident enough in her tracking skills to be sure that they wouldn't run into Men, even if they stopped here and there during the day to rest or observe something.

When night fell, they would make a small camp, and he would sleep on the ground with only a thin blanket to keep off the night's chill. It was more comfortable than any bed he had ever slept in. He would drift off in happy exhaustion, and wake up in the morning with the rising of the sun. Oh, how he loved the feeling of the warm sun on his skin...

(It burned him at first, but once his skin had a chance to properly peel a couple of times, he could endure it as well as the others.)

When they camped, Imiru would make a foxfire for them to warm themselves by. Armin was fascinated by her ability to summon these tiny spirits to do her bidding. They were so unlike fire, warm, but never burning. Jean was less impressed. One night, he decided to make his own campfire with his breath.

It was completely different. The flames were controllable. They licked hungrily at the wood below them and tasted the sky with their many tongues. In the center of the conflagration, humanoid shapes made from tiny twigs danced in frantic, spinning circles, and just as quickly were engulfed and disappeared.

Fire spirits, Jean explained. A Mamkute's breath had the ability to attract them. They were too small to cause harm, as a large fire spirit would if it got out of control, so there was nothing to fear from them. Jean reached into the campfire to let one hop on the back of his scaled hand. It danced in leaps and crackling pirouettes, before the heat of the fire it was made of cooled, and it folded up to lie down with a final stuttering pop, and a single ember drifted into the sky. Its body was then forever still.

It nearly brought a tear to Armin's eye. Its life was so short! But Jean had a different take on it. Of course, it didn't live for very long, none of them could deny that. But that life was one wild, unbridled expression of passion and joy. It knew nothing but happiness. Armin entertained the thought for some time that night, long after Jean had respectfully buried the little spirit’s body in the ashes.

\--

A certain day took them through a clearing. Or at least, out of the forest for a few hours. Reeds and grasses grew around them, tall enough that he couldn't see over them. Huge, fluffy clouds slowly passed in front of the sun, one at a time, and brought with them momentary shade, fading in and out at a pleasant pace. For the first time, Armin felt the wind blow through his hair and crest. He closed his eyes and mantled his wings around himself on instinct. A breeze caught in his feathers and pushed him back a step. His heart leapt into his throat.

Jean must have seen the excitement lapse onto his face. He turned around to face him with a wide grin.

"Why don't you give 'em a shot?"

"Excuse me?"

Armin was running his hands through his hair and crest to try and get it to lie flat. Jean spread his wings-- they got a little bit bigger every day-- and gave them a small flap in demonstration.

"You probably don't have the muscle to really lift off, but the wind here is good enough to get a shrimp like you kiting a bit. That's how you learn, you know."

Armin tilted his head, and mirrored Jean's flap without meaning to. Did he... Was Jean insinuating that...?

"You think I can _fly?_ "

"Of course you can. They aren't just there for show. C'mere."

" _There's no way he can get any kind of height like he is,_ " Imiru snarked, and Armin paused to look back at her. " _You're getting his hopes up for nothing._ "

"Shut up and make us look like dandelion seeds or something, foxface," Jean shot back with an easiness that got under her skin, and she curled her lips back in warning.

"Oh, please, Imiru!" Armin begged, and her sour expression softened. She really was too nice to the little one... She sighed, and sat down on her rump in resignment.

" _...Go on, get your fun done and over with,_ " she muttered, " _I can't keep this kind of illusion up forever._ "

"Thank you!" He half-bowed to her in thanks, a habit that he still hadn't been able to shake, but it meant something a lot more positive to him now. Armin turned his attention back to Jean, who was still holding out his arms.

"Come on, I'll lift you up. You'll get a better draft if you're up above this grass."

Armin didn't doubt that Jean could lift him. He was strong enough to carry a pack twice his weight. He just... He didn't associate being touched or held with anything good yet. He approached with his crest flat and his wings tucked back in as he tried to make himself look small.

"Hey, I'm not gonna hurt you," Jean got down on one knee to be lower than Armin, and that got him to perk up a little. No man had ever gone _down_ in front of him before. He took a few more steps forward, and Jean laced his fingers together like a basket in front of him. "Put your foot in my hand, and spread your wings out as far as they'll go. Lock your knees up, and I'll throw you."

"Throw?" Armin hesitated to comply, because now he was afraid for a whole 'nother reason. "Is that safe?"

"Eh, not really," Jean shrugged, "but like I said, that's how you learn. At least, it’s how Mamkutes learn, but how different could it be for Kinshi? You've got good, huge wings; if you keep them spread, you won't plummet back down or anything."

Armin dithered. He stepped back and forth a few times, and worried the toe of his boot in the dirt. But Jean was patient, and patience worked wonders with Armin. The breeze was tantalizing. His wings began to spread on their own again, to catch the wisps of wind.

"...Not until I say go, okay?"

"Sure," Jean nodded. Armin stepped forward, and put his foot in Jean's hands. Just as he promised, he didn't throw him right away. Armin glanced up at the sky as another cloud began to shadow the sun. He gave his wings a little flap, and then spread them out as far as they would go. He tensed up his body, and screwed his eyes shut.

"Okay... Goooo _ooo!_ "

Jean was not kidding when he said he could throw him. It was really more like a _launch._ Armin really had to fight not to clamp his wings up in fear as he suddenly found himself above Jean, above the grasses and weeds. But he had locked them in place. A strong wind blew into his feathers, and... He didn't fall.

Well, he was falling, but it was very, very slowly, so much so that it wasn't really registering. Armin opened his eyes, and was greeted with a spectacular sight. The field stretched out before him in all directions, and he could see it all, along with Jean and Imiru beneath him. They were _under_ him. He was _flying!_

Armin tried to flap his wings to get higher, or prolong his flight, but he wasn't strong enough to really get them underneath him. His technique was all wrong too. It was like a doggy paddle in the air, just a random flailing motion hoping for purchase and finding very little. Eventually, his feet came back to the ground, and much more softly than he expected.

The wind had pushed him backwards, so he was a few meters away from Jean and Imiru. All in all, the little glide only lasted about fifteen seconds. But Armin's heart was in his throat. That was, without a doubt, the best thing he had ever experienced, ever. He dashed back up to Jean, his crest straight up and his wings spread.

"Do it again! _Do it again!_ "

Jean snickered, and got back on one knee, with his hands folded together to take Armin's foot. Imiru flopped down to her stomach in exasperation. They were going to be here for a while.

\--

The trio's travels lasted for about another week. Armin noted that as they moved further east, the flora and fauna began to change ever so slightly. The forests were even thicker, dark and dense. The trees were huge, and towered above them like behemoths. Their roots were sometimes so large, one could pass underneath them. One night they made camp cradled in their giant, snarled embrace.  The moss and lichen grew lush and damp where the sun no longer touched the ground. Where the sun did break through, huge, cumbersome blossoms that let off a perfumed scent grew on vines crawling up the sides of the trees, desperate for even the tiniest finger of sunlight. Delicious, nectar-rich fruit grew heavy on these vines, and their ambrosial taste was nearly intoxicating.

This time, Armin did not ask Imiru if they had found the sacred forests. He simply knew. The heavy silence, the wet air, broken only by the sounds of animals and birds... He felt like he was being watched by something very, very old. It was considering him, sizing him up. He could only hope that he was worthy to walk these hallowed grounds.

The day after, Imiru resumed her human form and stilled her many spells. She said no Man had passed through his place in years, she could tell by scent, and so they had no reason to hide. The path they had been following disappeared completely. Water ran down steep hills in clear rivulets, over smooth stones, and small, glittering fish swam against the gentle currents. Armin took his boots off to enjoy the feeling of the cold water against his scaled feet, and found that he liked to keep them bare. The ground was so loamy and soft that he didn't need shoes.

They were growing very close to the temple. Instead of continuing in a straight path, they began to wind around the trees looking for its ruins. They could be anywhere around here, Imiru mused. The Kinshi's sacred forest and been undisturbed for so long that any clear sign of the temple's exterior was probably completely hidden by overgrowth, from above and below. The only thing they could do now was keep a sharp eye out.

Nearly three full days of wandering went by. Their supplies were running short, but the forest was so rich it was of little consequence. Fruits, sprouts, roots, and fish were all around, and very much edible. Someone could live here comfortably if they wished to try.

Sometime during the highest part of the day, Armin first spotted a bit of white stone sticking out from beneath the roots of a tree.

"Is this anything?" he turned to ask Imiru, and she came up to examine what he was looking at. She made a thoughtful sound, and nodded as she brushed some growth off of its surface.

"I think so. This is the sort of stone that the temple would probably be made of. Is there any more nearby?"

"Over here!"

Jean waved the two of them over to a small hill he was standing on. Armin turned to jog up to him.

Over the crest of the hill, more of the stone was visible. It dotted the green landscape like a trail, poking out of the dirt and clinging to the roots of trees. Imiru caught up to them in a second, and she nodded firmly at the sight.

"This is definitely it. The temple won't be far now."

She flicked one ear, and swished her tail thoughtfully. Then she turned, and began back down the hill.

"Imiru?" Armin called after her, wondering why she would turn back now.

"My work is done." She waved over her shoulder at the two of them. Armin looked up to Jean for answers, and he just shrugged. "I better get back to the village before my lady starts to miss me."

"But--!" he chased her back down, stumbling over his own feet a bit. Jean didn't move an inch, he only watched. "You did so much to help! Don't you want to see, or..."

"Not really. Isn't my place." She let Armin nearly run into her at the bottom of the slope. "And I doubt a Kitsune's magic would get you any farther than you are now."

"But...!" Armin started again, and she chuckled, laying a heavy hand on the top of his head.

"You've got more important things to do than keep hanging around with me. You're gonna find your people, right? Wrangle the Kinshi up and live in peace and harmony and all that?"

He looked up hopelessly, and then let his gaze fall, obviously upset. Armin had known very few people in his life. Most he'd rather forget. But the good ones-- ones like Imiru-- were exceptionally rare, and he wished he could keep them all nearby, forever. But that wasn't how the world worked, was it? The taste of the ephemeral nature of meeting and parting was bitter on his tongue.

Then he remembered the dance of the fire spirit. Yes, joy was ephemeral, but did that lessen the happiness it brought? Was its meaning lost? No, that couldn’t be so. He refused to believe it.

"...I will." He lifted his arm to wipe his eyes on his sleeve, and turned his chin up resolutely. "And then I'll fly back to the Village, and I'll tell everyone!"

"That's the way." She patted his head again with a very foxish grin, and her ears stood up straight. "You've got some strong stuff in you, kid. Something crazy is gonna happen because of you. And the whole world is gonna hear it when it does. I'm sure of it."

He only nodded in return. With a hop and a flick of her tail, Imiru took her fox form and bounded off into the thicket. The sound of her pawsteps faded quickly. Just like that, she was gone.

Armin scrubbed at his eyes again, then looked towards Jean, who was still at the top of the hill, his hands on his hips. Their eyes met, and Armin searched him. What were his intentions? Would he leave too? Jean's tail undulated like a snake, and the tips of his ears perked.

"What?" he asked as though nothing had happened. Had Jean experienced so many partings in his life that they meant little to him now? Armin shook his head, and trudged back up to his side. He could count on his company... for now. Jean had promised to take him to his people, but had said nothing about going anywhere further. He was ultimately headed north, to his holy mountain. He would have no need of a Kinshi there.

Armin began to harden something inside himself, to be ready when the day he needed hardness came.

\--

Just as the stones foretold, the temple was not far off. They grew taller and larger as the two ventured forth, clustering around, forming a sort of hall. It may very well have been in ages past, but had crumbled to the ground as age rotted its integrity.

And the trees began to change. The hulking titans that had been surrounding them before began to thin out, making way instead for a green latticework of slender trunks entwined together, forming barrier and structure that could not be destroyed by time. Barely any light found its way through their tangled branches. But Armin could see just fine. Shallow waters sat still beneath his feet, muddy and mossy.

For the first time, Jean was following Armin, instead of the other way around. He felt his way forward with confidence, as vines grew thick over their heads and created a shadowy corridor. It grew darker and darker, nearly pitch black...

Armin's hand touched cold, smooth stone. A faint, greenish light pulsed underneath his fingers. It grew brighter and brighter, spreading over the stone until it illuminated the entire slab before him, revealing an image cut into it, like a tablet.

A beautiful bird with a long neck, thin legs and huge wings stared at him in perfect, symmetrical relief. A single, vertical line cut down the center of the picture.

"A door," Armin breathed, and he pushed forward with the slightest bit of pressure. The huge slab gave way to his fingers as though it were made of nothing but air. Light poured through the growing crack, until it was wide enough for the both of them to fit through.

Above them, the sky opened up as though heaven itself decreed the sunlight shine upon this place. The latticework of trees that had holed them in now stretched up around them as towering walls that protected a secret, inner sanctum. Their canopies were so high up that Armin could swear they were touching the clouds.

The strange, mirage-like sensation of deja-vu washed over Armin. He knew this place. He had seen it in his green dreams. Those misty, foggy visions that he thought were only pleasant distractions-- they meant something! He took slow, reverent steps into the glade, and his heart pounded in his chest. His breath quickened in anticipation.

Fields of soft grass gently swayed before them, dotted with pale wildflowers. The gleaming white stone they had followed to find this place created a cobblestone path underneath them, which curved and widened, dotted with arches, columns, and places for people to gather and sit. Still streams overgrown with algae and mosses wound around these paths with well-plotted artistry. The behemoth trees that had made up the forest before stood in a well-manicured grove not so far away.

Armin stood, stared, and then took off, somehow drawn to their massive presence. He didn't even hear Jean's cry for him to wait up.

The trees, as he suspected, were not simply ornamental. Doors were carved into their great trunks. Some at their bases, and some higher up, with platforms underneath them to stand on.

Armin tentatively took the knob, and turned, his neck ducked to peer inside. There was a table, chairs, earthenware jugs on the floor, a bed tucked away in a corner. Dust motes hung in the air, just disturbed by the wind for the first time in ages. These were homes. People had lived here.

 _Lived._ In the past. Now, it was completely quiet and empty. The branches high above them rustled, the only sound that broke the silence of abandonment.

It was strange, though. The forest outside was wild and overgrown, but the sanctuary here was perfectly maintained. No weeds or vines had sprouted up to overtake these trees. The grass was even and soft. How had this area been spared by the ravages of time? There was a deep magic here. For this place to remain so untouched, and yet so perfect...

"Hey!"

Armin heard Jean the second time he yelled. He closed the door he had opened, turned his head, and followed the sound of his voice.

Jean had followed the winding streams to come to an old pond. In its middle was a beautiful statue. Just the like bird on the door, it was a huge, crane-like bird with its wings outstretched. But this piece of art was far more detailed. It had a long, delicate crest that sprouted from the top of its head. Its tail was well furnished with feathers that were obviously meant for display, long and elaborate with symmetrical patterns. Two long, whiskery tendrils sprouted from each side of its beak. The feathers that covered its body were hard and gleaming, more like scales on a fish...

But it was filthy. It smelled strongly of salty decay, probably from the rotting water below. The algae that was growing in the pond had nearly overcome the entire statue. Perhaps, in a few years, the entire statue would crumble as the insidious mold worked its way into the hard stone.

Armin flattened his crest in dismay. Somehow, he knew that this statue was very important. It needed to be cleaned, somehow.

He felt something cold in his pocket. He reached in to pull out the stone that had been given to him by the young water spirit in the Kitsune village. It gleamed in the sunlight, patterns swirling in the crystalline shard.

"Where in the world..." Jean sidled up close to get a look at the treasure, and seemed taken aback, "Armin, that's..."

"A gift from a water spirit," he finished Jean's sentence for him. "And I think I know what to do."

Armin cupped the little stone in his hands, and it began to pulsate with bright blue light. He stepped into the filthy water and knelt down to gently deposit the blessing in the muck.

The green growth separated itself from the stone's power in a perfect circle as though it were repulsed by its presence. It shone brighter and brighter as something began to form in the water, and Armin got up to step back into the grass.

The water raised like the tides. A shape formed and stood out of it, taller than both Armin and Jean. It was like the spirit that had given the stone to him, but much bigger, and fully formed. Its gills stood out from its head like great antlers, and eight short legs sprouted from its body, although it only stood on two.

It seemed to watch the both of them for a moment, before it exploded into a rush of glowing fish. The fish swam at incredible speeds in the pond and down the streams, and as they did, the water glowed. The rotting algae quickly disappeared. What was crawling up the statue vanished. A strong breeze blew through the grove, and Armin heard a whisper in the wind.

_Thank you._

The statue, now gleaming white and gold in the sun, shed a single tear. That tear solidified into a stone, and fell into the crystal clear waters below with a faint _plop_. As Armin instinctively stepped forward to retrieve it, he heard a great flapping coming from above him. Jean yelled for him to back off. Black wings blotted out the light for one terrifying moment. A figure splashed down beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this, please, leave a kudos! If you've already left a kudos, please consider leaving a comment!
> 
> I 'm still on Tumblr @ [Otterbeans](http://otterbeans.tumblr.com/) if you wish to contact me personally! I really enjoy talking to people interested in my fic, and befriending other writers, so please don't hesitate to hit me up if you'd like!


	8. The Three Tribes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there ho there! Time for an update!
> 
> This fic was heavily inspired by a roleplay done with [wadthehuntress](http://wadthehuntress.tumblr.com/). The dragon-hybrid species is one of her original creations; I've only made very slight alterations to her formula. Many thanks to her for allowing me to use her characters!

A flurry of black feathers splashed down in front of Armin in the reflecting pool. He managed to palm the statue's tear before he fell down to his bottom with an ungainly squawk of fear, crossed his arms in front of his face as a split-second means of self-protection, and peered between them with terrified curiosity at the creature before him.

He had seen many crows at the Kitsune village and during their travels to the temple. Pure black birds with bright, glossy eyes. While most birds seemed to fly about on their own birdy business, flitting to and fro and hopping about on the ground, there was something unsettlingly _thoughtful_ about crows. They would often take their time to regard what was before them before they decided what they were going to do. And most of the time, that was to get into trouble. They were a nuisance to the Kitsune, who had to protect their rice crop against them, and more than once, Armin would wake up after making camp to find their provisions being pecked at by one of the wily creatures.

This... monstrous thing was most definitely not a crow. For one, it dwarfed both him and Jean in sheer size, even bigger than a horse. There was a sharp, threatening gleam to its curved beak and long claws. It had a ruffled mantle of feathers at the front of its throat and around the back of its neck. And its coat was not a pure black. The light shone off of its glossy plumage with a crimson iridescence. A sinister, inky smoke the color of clotted blood rose from the corners of its mouth and its feathery ankles. Its tail faded into the same stuff. It obscured it to a point where it didn't look like the feathers there came to a tip at all.

"Hey! Back off!" Jean yelled, and drew his knife to rush the monster, but it brushed him away with its great wing as though he were nothing more than a fly. As his ass hit the ground, he took a deep breath, and blew fire in its direction. The flames licked against its feathers. It didn't seem to do any damage, but it _did_ gain the creature’s ire. It turned its head sharply to regard Jean with one shimmering eye, then stomped forward to pin him down with its huge foot. Its claws tightly grasped around his torso, and it made a low quorking noise while clacking its beak and moving its head with quick little jerks.

The size and strange malevolence of the creature certainly made it scary, but as Armin observed how the monster moved, he realized that its goal was not to harm. If that were the case, they would have been dead in a second, before they were even aware of its presence. Instead, it was treating Jean as though it had just found a particularly interesting bug. He sucked in another breath to try attacking with a hotter flame, but Armin came to his feet and approached the both of them before a true altercation could break out.

"Jean, stop." Armin raised a trembling hand toward the two, and shook his head. Jean gave him a strange look, but reluctantly he let the air out of his lungs without making more fire. As he hoped, the not-crow lifted its head to look at Armin instead, and drew its foot back and off of Jean once it realized that the Mamkute was no longer a threat. "You... you're kin, aren't you? Ravenskin?"

Its body reminded Armin of the fox form that Imiru and Kuri would take. A large, obviously sentient version of the animal their shapes mimicked. He doubted that it was simply a thoughtless monster, and the doubt grew into certainty as it flattened the feathers around its neck and took gentle steps towards him, its head bobbing up and down as it took in the sight of him from every angle. Jean sat up and lashed his tail against the ground in warning, his expression sour from being treated so, but left Armin to try and reason with it however he decided was best. They were Birdskin. They should be able to communicate with each other peacefully, right?

It stopped a respectful distance away from Armin, clicked and clacked its beak a few more times, then puffed out its throat to speak with a strange reverberation, as though its voice was coming from inside of its chest instead of its beak. It didn't have proper lips or a tongue for making words, so it must create them somewhere else.

" _Are you truly Kinshi?_ "

It had a peculiarly flat voice that lacked intonation, but there was a definite female lilt to it. Armin nodded.

"Yes, I believe I am," he answered as he stepped back into the pool, and waded over to the statue to put his hand on it. There was a strange vitality underneath the cold, smooth stone, and it steadied him.

She bobbed her head once, hopped down next to him with a small splash, and looked down to the crystal-clear waters at her feet.

" _Why don't you take your true form?_ "

"True form?" Armin replied with a second question. This seemed to strike her. The Ravenskin took a step back, and twisted her head to the side so sharply that the motion was nearly comical. Then she hopped forward again, and looked very pointedly at the statue Armin stood next to. He followed her gaze with his own.

"This... This is a Kinshi?"

He didn't notice when she nodded back at him. His gaze rose up, and he began to take careful steps around the idol of the pond, inspecting it from every side. A Kinshi... of course, it seemed so obvious now. Although the statue was pure white and he wasn't, the shape of their wings were the same, and so was the crest on top of its delicate head. Armin simply hadn't taken into account that _he_ could transform. Since Jean didn't, he assumed that it was a characteristic singular to the Kitsune, who were masters of trickery and magic.

"I'm sorry, I can't," he finally answered her, "I wasn't even aware that I could, so I certainly don't know the method..."

The Ravenskin blinked at him slowly. She then moved back very carefully, as if she had decided on something. She bowed her head down low, and mantled her wings to cover herself. The dark red smoke that rose from her body swirled around as though caught in a whirlwind, and obscured her shape as she began to transform.

Her body shrunk down to a more manageable size, although her wings remained more or less the same. Armin tried to peer around them. Did she have a human form like his? She rustled her feathers, and finally pulled them back as she came to stand on two feet.

She was a striking beauty. Armin had not come to know many people in his confined life, and far fewerwomen than men, but he could still tell that she was an uncommon sight. Even Jean was suddenly far more interested in her than he was a moment ago, his ears perked and his tail still as he craned his neck to get a better look.

She had pure, ink black hair, which fell like silk around her face. Her eyes were narrow and dark, glimmering with the same steady intelligence that her raven form had. Her skin was pale and creamy, and her cheeks and chin well-shaped. A faded red string was tied around her throat in several loose loops, and a dark, red stone tied up in it hung where her collarbones met at her chest.

Otherwise, her appearance was quite similar to Armin's. Her wings were well groomed, and just about as big, but not nearly as lovely as his. Her hands and feet were covered with the same, scaly birdflesh, up to her elbows and knees, and had hard, sharp nails, except hers were predictably black instead of white. And her crest-- Armin didn't notice it at first, because the black feathers blended so easily into her black hair, but she definitely had them-- gathered around her ears and cheeks instead of on top of her head like his.

Her clothing was plain and light. Cropped trousers made of a breezy material came down just below her knees, and a loose tunic covered her upper body. Armin envied the simplicity of it. She could probably fly very easily, even as a winged human.

She approached him again, and somehow, Armin was more wary of her in this form than he was when she was in her raven skin. Humans would always put him on edge. Her hand raised to touch him, and he flinched before her fingers could reach his cheek. She lifted her chin in interest, but took the hint, and let her hand fall back to her side.

"...I'm sorry," she finally said, her voice just as soft and toneless as it was before, "I come to this temple nearly every day, but it has been empty since I was born. I thought that you might be some kind of old magic still lingering..."

She looked down to the clear water at their feet again. It glittered joyfully in the dappled sunlight that filtered through the trees above them.

"But it looks like your own magic is just as strong."

"I didn't do anything," Armin shook his head, "I... I met a small water spirit awhile ago, and it gave me a strange pebble. I put the pebble in the water, and it made everything clean again."

"A water spirit wouldn't give its gift to just anyone. And you knew what it could be used for, without being taught."

There was something final and certain about the way she talked. Her words held no room for question. Armin's crest fluffed up in embarrassment, and he looked to her taloned feet standing in the pool. He decided to change the subject.

"...You said that you come here often?"

"Yes," she nodded once, "my master sends his son and I here to check on things. To see if anything has changed, or if there are any intruders... Which there have never been until now."

"...But you are not an intruder," she added after a moment of silence, "You are Kinshi. This is your home."

Armin lifted his head again, to examine the grove around him. It was just like his dreams. He couldn't deny that he felt a soul-deep sense of belonging as he stood here. But it was still missing something very important.

"Where are the rest of us?"

The young woman's eyes trailed away, with a trace of pain in her expression.

"I don't know. Nobody knows where they've gone."

"...Or if any survived at all."

Her expression tightened further. Armin briefly felt the emptiness he used to feel every day rear up inside of him. Was he truly the last of his kind? The only thing that kept him from falling off the deep end was the fact that there were people like Jean, the Kitsune, and this girl, his Kin, who welcomed him like he had never been welcomed before. He was cared for now, even if these people were not _his_ people.

"I'll bring my master here." She cut into his absent thoughts. Her hands were curled into determined fists. "He's been waiting for a Kinshi to return here for a long time. He can answer all your questions. He can help you."

She turned around as though she intended to leave right away.

"Wait!" Armin called after her, and she stopped to look over her shoulder. "That's alright, I'd like to meet them, but who are you? What's your name?"

Her eyes widened as she realized that she had completely forgotten to introduce herself. A blush rose on her pale skin, and her crest lifted to cover her cheeks in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry... I don't meet new people very often." Her hand rose to toy with the red string around her throat. "My name is Mikasa. And you--"

"My name is Armin." He held a hand to his chest, and then motioned towards Jean, who had stood up awhile ago. "And this is my... my friend, Jean."

"It's... very nice to meet you, Mikasa. Really."

The small hope that had kindled in his chest when he was rescued grew stronger and brighter every day. To meet another Birdskin, even if they were not a Kinshi, made him feel more sure of himself. He was a little less alone now.

Mikasa nodded at him again. She stepped out of the water, and with another puff of smoke to hide her transformation, she returned to her full form. Her wings flapped and stirred the air around them violently enough to ruffle their hair. She circled upwards until she cleared the height of the trees that surrounded them. And then she was gone nearly as suddenly as she had come upon them.

"Well, that was a find." Jean finally stepped in beside Armin. His crest lifted as he turned his head to meet his eyes. "I've never seen a Ravenskin in the flesh before. She was a beauty."

"She was," Armin agreed, looking up to the sky where she had flown out of sight. "It was... strange, to see someone who looks so much like me. I'd always assumed that I was some kind of anomaly... Until you popped up out of my floorboards."

"It's Naga's will." He casually stretched his arms over his head, then rested his hands behind his neck. "You were meant to return home. She was supposed to find you. Chance encounters like this aren't just luck. They're inevitable."

"Like... fate?"

"Sort of," Jean trailed off. Armin's crest flattened. While he had grown closer to finding his origins, he felt like he was drifting further and further away from something just as important to him.

\--

Armin and Jean waited in the grove for several hours as Mikasa went to fetch her master. Only the saddest pittance of conversation occurred between them as they idled the time away. Eventually, Jean wandered off to explore the old dwellings carved out of the massive trees, but Armin didn't leave the reflecting pool. He was transfixed by the statue that stood there. It was so familiar, and so beautiful.

He toyed with the stone that the statue cried, which he was keeping in his pocket. Did the power to change shapes like the others had really exist inside of him? He had a longing to take that form, so ancient and instinctual that he didn't entirely understand it.

They had arrived at the temple in the morning. The sun had not yet begun to set when Armin heard the flapping of massive wings fade in from the distance. He rose to his feet and turned his head to the sky. Jean must have picked up on the sound too, because he ran in behind Armin just as their new visitors breached the hazy clouds above them.

Three Birdskin circled slowly and softly to the ground. One of them was Mikasa. Armin could tell from the way the afternoon sun glinted a dark red off of her black feathers. The other two were not Ravenskin, so Armin could only assume they were Hawkskin.  They were even bigger than her, and had mottled brown feathers...

Actually, they were a _lot_ bigger than her. Nearly twice as big. As they landed on the other side of the pond, he could clearly see the true difference in their size. It was as though the actual birds they mimicked had been brought to true scale. The Hawkskin were dauntingly massive. Their talons were as large and sharp as scimitars, and their beaks curved with a hook so menacing he was sure it could tear through hardened leather, and maybe even metal plating, like rice paper.

They looked so proud in their true forms, with breasts huge and pronounced from the strength required to take flight in such a large body. But Armin didn't get to take in the sight for as long as he did with Mikasa. The bigger of the two, who Armin assumed to be the elder of the group, turned its head to examine him with one, huge brown eye (the other’s eyes were a deep gold) and unmitigated intensity. He felt like the frog caught in the stare of the snake. He heard a slight shifting behind him as Jean made himself ready to step forward...

But there was very little to fear. After the elder was confident about what he was seeing, both it and the smaller one crouched down as Mikasa did when she changed skins. There was no smoke involved with the Hawkskin. They lacked the strange magic that Mikasa had. They simply _were_ , giant, quick and vicious. Armin remembered Lady Kuri's story, as they transformed, how these two tribes came to the aid of the Kinshi with force. In the case of the Hawkskin, he could tell that the urge to attack was something built into their bones.

All three uncurled into their human forms in time. Mikasa was instantly recognizable, just as she was in the morning. As for the hawks, when they looked like men, it was far easier to gauge just how old they were. The elder was a bit taller, and had long, loosely plaited hair. His face was weathered with the age of a man halfway through his life. The smaller one, who Armin assumed to be his son, looked to be the same age as Jean, Mikasa and himself. His amber-yellow eyes had grown even more intense. A permanent scowl was set into his features.

As they all stood in the same shape, Armin could see why they were all lumped together as Birdskin by those less knowledgeable. Their wings were all rather the same, only different in color and pattern, and they had the same scaly flesh on their arms and legs. The other three even wore similar clothes. Their crests were different-- Armin's was on the top of his head, Mikasa's gathered around her cheeks, and these Hawkskin had ones that pointed up around their ears-- but that was a minor detail to the casual observer.

Before any of them could exchange a word, the angry-looking young one burst forward, and pushed past his father with such straightforward intention that he scared Armin stiff as a board, and his crest shot straight up in alarm. He first grabbed him by the shoulders, as though he had to be sure he wasn't a phantom. Then he took him by the wrists, and lifted his arms to look at his hands. It was all done in such quick, harsh succession that Armin didn't have a moment to protest. Finally, he looked up, and raised his own hand to touch Armin's crest...

"Hey, cut it out!"

" _Eren!_ "

The elder called for his son at the exact same moment Jean barked up and shoved Eren away. The two exchanged a nasty glare, and Eren opened his mouth to protest, but his father stepped forward and touched his shoulder to silence him. He seemed to understand that touching Armin's crest was a line that shouldn't be crossed. Eren's own crest lifted up in surprise, and he turned back to his father with a moody glare.

"I had to make sure he wasn't a ghost, or some kind of albino!" he grumbled loudly. "White Naesal happen sometimes, Mikasa could've been wrong!"

"I understand, son," the father replied with an air of tired exhaustion, as though he had to call his son back like that quite frequently. "But even if he were a ghost, or an albino, you should still show some respect."

"He doesn't like to be touched," Mikasa added, showing off perception that Eren obviously lacked.

Armin didn't know it, but he had begun to shiver in fear, his crest flat and his wings drawn in tightly towards his back. Eren still had one hand very firmly around his wrist. When he looked back from his father, he finally noticed, and let go as though he had been touching hot coals. He had an air of confusion about him, but he gave Armin his space anyways.

"Why not...?"

If he were truly a Kinshi, and had never seen another Birdskin before, wouldn't he delight in finally meeting some semblance of his people? Why didn't he sing for joy and spread his wings to be groomed?

"Think about it, birdbrain," Jean huffed, and a small plume of fire emitted from his nose. His tail lashed like a whip as he put himself between the Armin and the others. He and Eren locked glares again. "If the Kinshi have been gone for decades, and one suddenly appears out of nowhere that's never seen a Birdskin before, where do you think he's been?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know!" he shouted, and Armin stepped behind Jean's back. "What kind of stupid question..."

" _Eren._ " The father reigned his son in yet again, and pulled him back a few steps, much to Eren's chagrin. Once he was controlled, he spoke to Armin himself. He had a straightforward manner, but it was softened with experience. "Please excuse my son, he isn't well socialized. My name is Grisha. My son's name is Eren. And I heard you've already exchanged pleasantries with Mikasa. May I ask your name?"

"...Armin," he spoke in a whisper, and came back out from behind Jean just enough to have a proper conversation with Grisha. He nodded solemnly in return.

"Armin," Grisha repeated, "I am delighted to meet you. I see you are a smart young man, so I believe you are already aware of the gravity of your presence here in the Temple."

"Mikasa told me," he replied, "that she had never seen a Kinshi here."

"She had not," he confirmed, "and I had not. My father did not, and his father before him did not either. Tibern have been watching these ruins for generations since the Kinshi first fled."

"Armin, you are the first to return."

Armin looked down. He wasn't disappointed, because he wasn't expecting much of anything from the Temple to begin with. The Kitsune had warned him that it would most likely be empty. He was only hoping for some kind of clue, or even a tiny bit of closure. But to know that there had been people waiting here for the return of his kind for so long... It was a weight. It wasn't a burden, but it was heavy.

"I have a feeling that the answer to my next question will be difficult, so I apologize in advance for asking it, but..." Grisha lowered his head slightly,."Where were you, before you came here?"

"...I was kept by men," Armin sighed with reluctance. The words didn't come any more easily the second time around. "I was kept by men and my flesh was sold for their pleasure."

" _Bastards!_ "

Eren's voice was more a screech than a shout. Grisha shot a cool glare back at him, and Mikasa stepped up to put her hand on his shoulder in support. His arms were crossed and his scowl deepened, but he didn't say anything more.

"I assumed as much," Grisha sighed, "and I am sorry that you've led such a life. But do you know where you came from, before the men kept you?"

"I don't." Armin shook his head. "I don't remember anything from before that place."

Grisha seemed vexed by this response, but Armin could understand his frustration. He must have been hoping for a revival of his brethren Kin, not one single, broken stray. But he quickly regained his kind composure.

"Then, may I ask how you took your leave from that place?"

Armin looked up to Jean. Their eyes met, and they nodded to each other. Jean replied to Grisha for him.

"How about we sit down? This is gonna be a long story."

\--

Once their words had journeyed through the brothel, down below in the caverns, past the Walls, into the forest of the Kitsune and then traveled to the temple here, the sun had set and night had come upon them. The moon shone brilliantly against the glassy surface of the pond, and lit the statue of the Kinshi with an incandescent glow. The group sat around it as the first fireflies of summer danced in the grassy fields and above the cat-tail reeds.

"When I touched the door, it seemed to respond to me," Armin ended the story, "the stone glowed and it opened to let me in. After we explored for a little while, I put the water spirit's gift into the murky water here, and it cleaned it. The statue thanked me with this."

He took the crystal tear that fell from its eyes out of his pocket and showed it to the others. Eren and Mikasa's curiosity was mild at best, but Grisha examined the stone with great interest.

"My knowledge of the Kinshi race is completely anecdotal," he admitted as Armin dropped the bauble into his cupped hands for closer examination, "so I have never seen one of these in person, but I believe it is a Beaststone."

"A Beaststone?" Armin echoed, and Grisha nodded.

"Yes. They are different shapes and colors for different kinds of Kin, and there are even variations from individual to individual. Like Mikasa's there" --he motioned over to the blood-red stone that hung around her neck-- "but they are what facilitates our transformation from form to form."

Armin's crest shot up, and he took the stone back from Grisha with unabashed greed.

"How? How do I use it? Is it mine at all?"

He looked back to the statue with great longing, and even some excitement. Grisha smiled at him with genuine fondness.

"I think that you could learn to use it... If the Kinshi spirit gave it to you, it must be yours."

All of Armin's feathers fluffed up in pleasure at the news. If he were a bird, would it be easier for him to learn how to fly?

"Did you hear that, Jean?" Armin turned to him, and showed him his stone as though it were the greatest treasure in the world. "Do you think that we could learn together?"

But as Armin looked towards him, he noticed his expression of pained detachment for the first time. His eyes were low and his eyebrows pinched. His own face fell in disappointment. Grisha glanced between them both and read the atmosphere.

"Even a fledgling Mamkute knows how to transform into a drake," he commented, "by his age, he shouldn't have to be shown."

"Jean," Armin pressed further, "you really know how, don't you? I've seen your stone, you're wearing it around your neck right now!"

"It's not..."

Jean looked away. It was obvious that this subject was one that he wanted to avoid, but he no longer could. Before he was begged any further, he pulled the pendant up and out from under his tunic. Grisha took a breath of surprise, and all eyes were suddenly on the burgundy colored stone that hung in the air.

"...You do realize that that Dragonstone doesn't belong to you, don't you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE!
> 
> First off, click the following links for reference on [Kinshi](https://ibb.co/hWBDBa), [Naesal](https://ibb.co/hOSBWa), and [Tibern](https://ibb.co/kvSZjv) crests. Lovingly drawn with my finger on my touchscreen. I think it gets things across better than my writing did. Naesal are based off of ravens (duh), Tibern are a variety of hawks (Grisha and Eren are Golden Eagles) and Kinshi are [this bird](https://vignette3.wikia.nocookie.net/fireemblem/images/2/2a/Golden-Kite.png/revision/latest?cb=20160118165941) from Fire Emblem... which in themselves seem to be based on the Chinese mythical creature, Feng Huang.
> 
>  **ALSO VERY IMPORTANT:** To celebrate 100 kudos, as well as more than a year's worth of work on this fic, I am looking to **commission an artist** to do a piece of Armin for me. It will be of him back when he worked in the brothel, so they will have to be good at drawing detailed clothing. If you have any suggestions of artists that might be willing to do this for me, please let me know! Price is not an object, I will pay whatever rate is required.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this, please, leave a kudos! If you've already left a kudos, please consider leaving a comment!
> 
> I 'm on Tumblr @ [Otterbeans](http://otterbeans.tumblr.com/) if you wish to contact me personally! I really enjoy talking to people interested in my fic, and befriending other writers, so please don't hesitate to hit me up if you'd like!


	9. Wise Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I don't think I've ever written so much expository dialog in my life. Sorry about that.
> 
> This fic was heavily inspired by a roleplay done with [wadthehuntress](http://wadthehuntress.tumblr.com/). The dragon-hybrid species is one of her original creations; I've only made very slight alterations to her formula. Many thanks to her for allowing me to use her characters!

"Yeah. I know," Jean solemnly replied, and tucked the pendant back under his shirt. "It's not mine."

Armin knitted his brow in confusion. He flicked his eyes between Jean and Grisha as if hoping for an answer in the knowing look that they exchanged.

"I don't understand..." he finally said. "How did you know that it wasn't his? And Jean-- why would you have the wrong stone? Where is yours?"

Jean seemed reluctant to divulge any more details, thin-lipped and narrow-eyed. But Grisha was able to answer what questions he could.

"Beaststones, and Dragonstones, usually show some kind of resemblance to their owners," he replied to Armin. "For example, Mikasa's red stone. Or yours, which is blue, like the tips of your feathers. Jean here has yellow scales, so his stone should reflect that somehow. The color of the one around his neck right now isn't right at all. It's something we can tell at a glance, or else we might confuse them by accident.

"There are specific rituals involved as well. Every tribe has their own way of creating them. They're not something that can be easily misplaced. Or replaced."

"Oh..."

Armin opened his palm to look at his stone. Even though he had just received it, there was something familiar about it. He didn't find it strange when the statue had bestowed it upon him. Perhaps that was how all Kinshi received their stones in the past. So he didn't question Grisha's evaluation. He knew that it was his.

"I have to admit," Grisha began, " I was curious about you, Jean. Mamkutes live in nomadic groups, and follow ancient migratory paths as the seasons change. As far as I'm aware, there's no reason, cultural or otherwise, for one to be travelling alone."

Jean let out a deep sigh. There was a tinge of sorrow in it, an emotion that Armin had yet to see in his companion. What kind of secret was he harboring? Armin had never questioned the fact that he was alone when they had met. He had no idea that Jean should be with a group of Mamkutes. Jean had never corrected him. The Kitsune never mentioned it either.

"...The Crusaders want Mila's Bounty," he finally spoke, and lifted his head to address the circle. "They tried to take it by force."

"Mila's Bounty..." Grisha pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his forefinger in thought. "That's where the Mamkutes roost during the deepest of the winter months, correct? At the tip of the southern peninsula?"

"Right." Jean nodded. "A land of eternal warmth. Even in the deepest part of winter, there's still plenty of hunting to be had. Little wonder why they'd want it..."

"To be honest, the migration routes aren't what they used to be either," he added. "They've been getting more and more dangerous to travel since the Crusaders started pushing east. Sometimes we have to veer out of the Pagan Lands and  cut through human territory. Normally it's not a problem. A full-grown Mamkute in their dragon's skin can take care of a few of those tin-plated idiots.

"But... While the tribes were in the Duma Mountains during the summer, they must've snuck their way south around the cape in their ships, and trenched themselves in around the Bounty's borders. They'd pulled out all the stops. Siege towers, ballistas, alchemists and sorcerers-- my tribe was the first to arrive there for the season, and we weren't ready. The elders were tired and we had plenty of pregnant nearly ready to give birth.

"We didn't stand a chance. We didn't have the numbers. My whole tribe... everyone was killed, or taken."

"Fucking _men!_ "

The solemn note of their conversation was rudely interrupted by Eren's shrill screech. Armin jumped in his seat. Grisha looked to his son with muted scorn, but he would not be so easily quieted.

"They think they can have whatever they want-- that if they touch it, it's theirs! And if someone gets in their way, all they have to do is kill them! We should have burned their boats the moment they hit our shores! They're a load of fucking senseless murderers!"

"Eren..."

Mikasa reached out to gently smooth down Eren's ruffled feathers. He shot her a venomous glance, but she was unaffected. She continued to rake her fingers in his wings, and ignored his sour expression as he twisted his mouth shut.

"I ask for your forgiveness again," Grisha said with a sigh in his breath. "It might be inappropriate to show his anger at the moment, but he has a right to be upset. His mother was killed by Crusaders while he was still small. So were Mikasa's blood mother and father."

"...Was it because they were Birdskin?" Armin asked, and Grisha nodded, his jaw tight.

"Yes. Men have held a particular animosity towards us, ever since our conflict centuries ago.  They may have thought of the Kinshi in particular as selfish gods, but they remember the battle between them, the Tibern, and the Naesal with even more hatred.

"Burning our ancient forests was not enough for them. Now they hunt us down for glory and prizes. It is why the large majority of us have moved farther east, and out of their reach."

"But you stayed here because you had to watch this temple," Armin finished for him.

"Eren and I, yes. As I said, our family has been keeping an eye on this place for generations. But Ravenskin are adept magic users, and some of them elected to stay behind. They could easily elude hunters. However..."

"...The sorcerers. They call them 'Wise Men'..." Jean said under his breath. Armin watched as he hung his head low, as his ears and wings drooped.

"I heard you say that before," Grisha gave his attention to Jean again. "It sounds like we have shared the same troubles."

Armin remained quiet. He had a notion of what they might be referring to-- how else could a human possibly stand up to Kin in their true forms?-- but he wanted to hear it from Jean's mouth.

"Yeah. They've figured out how to rip us out of our skins."

An uncomfortable chill settled down on the five of them. Armin wasn't nearly as close to his form as they were; he didn't know what it felt like to really be a Kinshi yet, but it was obvious that it deeply disturbed the others. These people lived in harmony with the spirits and the earth. To be denied their most natural form would be like being cut off from that world.

"So that's how you..." Armin began, and Jean pursed his lips, his brow furrowed in pain as he was forced to recall that day.

"They took my stone. Tore it out of me while I was trying to defend the tribe. Tore them out of all of our fighters too. I got away because... my friend grabbed me and ran. He was still just a drake. He couldn't take flight. He took a bolt from their ballistas right in the side, but he kept running until he got me to safety."

Jean didn't finish his story. But he didn't need to. Armin now understood that stone he carried really wasn't his. It belonged to the friend that died to save him.

"...I'm taking him back to Duma's Maw. I've got to return him to their earth's veins. It's only right."

"Duma's Maw?"

Armin couldn't help his question. But it seemed to distract Jean from his sorrows, if only a little.

"I told you before, I'm headed to the Duma Mountains up north. It's where Mamkutes usually spend the summer. The whole region is volcanic, and one of the rituals we perform every year is throwing the Dragonstones of the dead back into the lava, so their souls can live in the fire under the ground again."

"Wait," Grisha interjected. "I understand that your tribe was killed, and you have my deepest sympathies, but what of the rest of the Mamkutes? Shouldn't they all be headed back towards the Duma Mountains by now? You could have joined them."

"...The rest of the tribes have decided to give up the migration."

Armin saw a flash of anger gleam in Jean's eyes as he spoke the words from between his clenched teeth. Even Grisha looked gravely dismayed.

"Impossible! The Mamkute have walked the migration routes since the beginning of time! To just _give them up_ is..."

"It wasn't an easy decision for the elders to make. But the truth of it is, we can't return to Mother Mila anymore. And if we can't do that, what's the point of migrating at all? It would only be half of what it was supposed to be."

"Then fight!" Eren raised his voice and slammed his fist to the ground. "Gather up everyone and fight back! They're your lands, you should--"

"And just how do you think we'd do that?" Jean snarled back, flames pluming out of his nose. "Their sorcerers can steal our forms! Without our Dragonskin, we're just scaly men! They'd gun us all down in seconds!"

"But they just can't--"

"They _can_ and they _did_ ," Jean answered with finality. "The rest of the tribes gathered up what little they had and started moving east. They'll find somewhere else to live."

His words were punctuated with uneasy quiet. None of them liked what had been said, but it was the truth, and there was nothing they could do about it.

"...The Garm and the Centaurs live to the east of the migration routes," Grisha added uneasily, "as well as the remainder of the Birdskin. There simply isn't enough room for everyone. It may be impossible for the Mamkute to settle there and manage to subsist."

"They're going to have to find a way," Jean replied. "They don't have any other choice."

"Isn't that... Only a matter of delay, though?" Armin softly interjected. "If these Wise Men of theirs can rip our Beaststones from us, there's nothing stopping them from continuing to push north and east into the Pagan Lands."

"...As much as it pains me to admit it, that is the rub of the situation." Grisha shook his head as he spoke. "They have been slowly encroaching upon us for centuries, but this new development is very troubling. What happened to us was not an isolated incident. Their efforts may double or triple now. And if the fate of the Mamkutes is any indication, we aren't ready for it."

Armin looked down with an expression of deep contemplation. There was something here that was bothering him. He had met all kinds of Kin now, dragon, fox, hawk, raven, and they spoke of each other as "we," like they were all part of the same family. And yet, there was a distinct separation between all of them. There were only Kitsune in their valley. Mamkutes walked their own paths. Birdskin lived with Birdskin. They were the same, but they were different.

"...I'm sorry if this sounds like a silly question," he began once he had gathered his thoughts, "but is there any sort of 'king' of the Kin? Someone that watches over and gives order to everyone?"

He was expecting Grisha to respond with something like, _no, of course not. There aren't any silly questions._ But he was very, very wrong. All four looked back at Armin as though he had grown a second head.

"No, there isn't," he finally answered, and without apology. "Men are all the same, both in form and culture, so I can understand why they can all take orders from one person. But for Kin..."

"It'd be impossible," Jean finished. "Sure, we've all got something in common, but we really have more differences than we can count. You got a good feeling for how the Kitsune lived, right? Could you see them cooperating with Mamkute, that travel all over, and... I don't know, the Garm? They're practically feral. They barely get along with each other, let alone other Kin."

Armin felt himself shrink. They were right. He didn't understand the world as they did, since he was shut away for so long. He was tempted to leave it at that, but...

No. He wasn't going to let his words die any longer. He lifted his chin in defiance. The weight on his shoulders nearly broke his neck, but he wasn't going to give up so easily.

"Then that's a weakness we share as well."

Eren and Jean looked at him in confusion. Grisha's eyes widened. Armin swallowed deeply, and continued.

"Men may outnumber us separately, but do they when we are a whole? Maybe a sorcerer can rip a Naesal out of their raven skin, but could he if they were working together with a Kitsune? If you shun cooperation so quickly, you aren't thinking about what we might be capable of gathered as one."

The young Birdskin and Jean shared glances, and regarded each other with curiosity, like they were looking at someone entirely new from the person they had just met. Grisha, however, remained focused on Armin, with a gaze as sharp as his hawk form.

"...I can see why you would come to that conclusion,"  he began slowly. "Your perception is different than ours after living a long life of imprisonment. You don't see us as different. You see us as the same. Am I correct?"

Armin nodded. Grisha looked up at the sky, and then closed his eyes. He took a deep breath.

"Perhaps that it just the sort of thinking we need."

Slowly, Grisha got to his feet and stood. He pressed his wings tightly to his back. The shadows of the moon peeking over the eastern horizon cast shadows on his face that spoke of how long he had really lived. He was a man that knew the history of his fathers before him as though it were his own, and saw the future rapidly approaching despite centuries of stagnation. He saw the suffering of others, and experienced his own suffering, just as painful.

"I admit, I am not normally one to advocate for rash decisions," he began, and his son looked to him, dumbfounded. "But I can see that change is coming too quickly for me to fully understand it before it slices my throat open. Now is the time for action."

"Dad..." Eren's crest lifted in excitement.

"I have a proposition for you, Armin. You stand in a position of unique circumstance, and I think you may be the only one I can ask this of. Please forgive me for the burden my sudden, selfish request may place upon you."

He cleared his throat to punctuate his sentence, and Armin watched him, transfixed.

"You are a Kinshi. Your kind, historically, were peacemakers. Even before the time of men. You spoke to the spirits and knew the Myriad, the laws and justice of nature. I believe now that your appearance here heralds a new era for Kin. One of the cooperation you speak of. A time in which Kin stand together like the brothers we claim to be."

"Please," he closed his eyes and lowered his head, his crest flattened in humility. "Would you offer your voice to speak to the masses?"

"I..."

Armin raised a hand to his chest, his feathers fluffed up with an emotion he couldn't quite pinpoint. He wasn't frightened, or apprehensive, but his heart was pounding. His blood was coursing hot through his veins.

"Hey, wait a minute here," Jean cut in before Armin could reply, and his crest shot up as turned to face him. "You're talking like you really know what you're asking of him, but... _seriously?_ Sure, he's not dumb, I get that better than anyone, but a _herald_ for _a new era?_ Are you nuts?"

"You don't talk to my dad like that!" Eren huffed, and the two locked glares again. "Besides, I like his idea. Those Wise Men killed my mom almost a decade ago. It's about time we stand up and do something about this!"

"But making _Armin_ into some kind of figurehead? He's barely been out of the Menagerie for a month! He doesn't know how to change skins, or even fly yet--"

"You can't do any of those things either," Eren sneered, and Jean slapped his tail against the ground in warning.

"Enough," Mikasa cut in, and the rare sound of her voice was enough to distract the two from their fight. Armin's focus shifted over to her, and her soft, steady gaze.

"I know it may be difficult to take in," Grisha repeated softly. "And right now, the idea is nebulous at best. It will have to be plotted, quickly and carefully, before we take any action. But right now, it all hinges on your decision."

Armin was granted a little bit of quiet. He looked about himself, into the dark silence of the temple. He wondered, briefly, what this place might have looked like when it was populated with Kinshi. He yearned for their advice. He wanted to know if he really was made of the same stuff as the legends they had left behind. What if the history of his people had been blown out of proportion? What if he wasn't even half of what they made him up to be?

His gaze was drawn back to the reflecting pool. The crescent moon sat calm and glassy in the water's mirror. A small ripple broke the surface, in the shape of the fish that the water spirit had summoned earlier. It was as though someone was reassuring him from somewhere very far away.

"...Jean is right," he began. "I'm inexperienced. I barely know anything about the outside world. I barely know anything about _myself_. From what I've heard from other people, the Kinshi were a great and honorable kind. But I can't yet say that I am one of them. Do you really believe that a changeling like me can live up to that kind of legacy?"

"You hesitation is understandable," Grisha replied, "and it speaks well of your restraint. But if the story of how you got here is true, you have exceptional intuition and good sense. I won't deny that you are going to have to rely on your existence as a Kinshi to earn the attention of others, but it is a powerful tool, one that the rest of us don't have. If you can learn to properly wield it in tandem with your intelligence, you could convince others to join a cause better than any Kin.

"And I can see," he added, "that the thought of it ignites passion in you."

Passion. Was that what this feeling was called? The one that made his heart beat so intensely? Armin felt like one of the birds they used to keep with him, broken out of its cage and staring at the sun. The entire sky was his. All he had to do was lift his wings for the first time, and let the winds of purpose carry him up.

"...May I have some time to think about it? A night, perhaps?"

"Of course." Grisha folded his arms behind his back. "I didn't expect you to know what you want to do on the spot. And we will still need time to prepare you after that. Take as long as you need."

Eren looked excited. Mikasa, unaffected. But Armin could feel Jean’s gaze burning on him, as if he were trying to see into his soul.

\--

Everyone decided to stay in the old temple for the night. Eren went hunting and brought back a few large fish from a nearby lake for them to enjoy for dinner. It was nice to eat something other than jerky, pickled rice and brush fruit for once. Armin had never eaten a whole, grilled animal before, and picked at the meat between the bones with interest. He was fascinated that the muscle that propelled a fish through the water could be turned into something good to eat. He mumbled a thank you to the fish's spirit when he was done.

They dispersed to the long vacated tree houses to sleep for the night. Armin did too. He laid in an old bed and watched the dust motes dance around in the moonlight filtering through the window. He wondered if there were spirits in the little specks as well, that made them float around so. Armin blew a sharp breath between his lips and watched them frantically scatter in the burst of air, reflecting the tumult of his own thoughts.

It was pointless to try and sleep. After an hour or fruitlessly resting his eyes, Armin got up and left his hutch to go for a walk. His limbs were full of nervous energy, but it wasn't unpleasant. He was used to depression, his arms and legs feeling like lead, and anxiety was a welcome change from that deadened cold.

He made his way around the perimeter of the entire grove, walking along the thick, vine-like trees that made an impenetrable barrier, only surmountable by those that could fly. The night was deep and silent, no cicadas, crickets or frogs awake to sing. The grass was soft and wet with summer dew. Armin was awake in the paradise that he often dreamed of during these dark hours, and he let himself shed a few dewy tears of his own for the great relief that brought him before he quickly wiped them away.

While this was no prison, he didn't want to move from one house to another simply to exist, as peaceful as the house may be. Movement felt more natural to him. Perhaps he picked up the urge from Jean, and the Mamkute's need to migrate. He was the happiest when they were hiking through the ever-changing scenery, going somewhere, chasing something. He needed that purpose.

So Grisha's proposition was tempting. It appealed to that need. Only fear held him back. What if he couldn't live up to the expectations placed upon him? Bringing people together wasn't easy in the best of circumstances. And he still didn't understand Kin as well as he would like, let alone the world around him, his own emotions, or the feelings of others. His inexperience was woeful. His sole advantage was, as far as anyone knew, being the last Kinshi alive in the Pagan Lands.

Armin desperately wished to connect with that part of himself. He wandered back to the statue as he had so many times already, and entered the water to approach it. He ran the pure-white flesh of his scaled hand over the smooth, white stone of the Kinshi's head. He cupped his fingers under its beak, and leaned forward to touch his head to the cold marble.

"Please," he whispered. "Is there anything you can teach me?"

A pulse of energy emanated from his pocket, where he kept the crystal he was given. Ripples undulated from around his ankles in perfect circles that raced to the edges of the pool. He felt a comforting warmth, like the embraces of his dreams, like feathers brushing against his cheeks. A motherly voice echoed softly in his ears.

_ You are. _

He was. He was Kinshi. He was ready. But more importantly, he was Armin, and he was everything that made that name precious.

His soul left his body to take the form of another. It wasn't painful, nor strange. If anything, it felt like he had finally returned home.

Armin opened his eyes, but he didn't need to look at himself. He knew what he was. His image was like the statue. A beautiful white bird with long legs and a slender neck. Its feathers laid close to its body like fish scales, and its tail fanned out like a peacock's, decorated with sun-colored eyes glowing with blue iridescence. Long whiskers of the same blue color sprouted from the sides of its beak, and its golden crest stood tall and proud.

He turned, and lifted his wings to feel the air pass underneath them. In this noble pose, he met Jean, who stood before him in quiet awe. Armin knew. He knew that he had been watching from the beginning. The Dragon tumbled endlessly in circles with the Crane.

" _Will you help me?_ "

"...I will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this, please, leave a kudos! If you've already left a kudos, please consider leaving a comment!
> 
>  **HEY!** Wanna support this fic EVEN MORE??? I got that fanart commission I was looking for done by the lovely Aurum, which you can see **[here](http://otterbeans.tumblr.com/post/164991321315/commission-of-armin-from-my-au-to-the-northern)** on my Tumblr! If you like it, please reblog! It includes a link to the fic and I would love every little bit of new readership it might gather!
> 
> I 'm on Tumblr @ [Otterbeans](http://otterbeans.tumblr.com/) if you wish to contact me personally! I really enjoy talking to people interested in my fic, and befriending other writers, so please don't hesitate to hit me up if you'd like!


	10. To The Northern Lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The finale of the first part of this fic!
> 
> This fic was heavily inspired by a roleplay done with [wadthehuntress](http://wadthehuntress.tumblr.com/). The dragon-hybrid species is one of her original creations; I've only made very slight alterations to her formula. Many thanks to her for allowing me to use her characters!

“ _Thank you,_ ” Armin bobbed his head and took a clumsy, but endearing step towards Jean, like a fumbling just-hatched chick. As magnificent as he was, he was unused to this form. His legs held his weight in all the wrong places. It was nothing like walking as a creature that was meant to be solely bipedal. “ _Thank you, Jean. I don't think I could make it without you._ ”

He stumbled at the edge of the pool, and he flapped his wings in useless distress like a giant chicken, and Jean put his hands forward to steady him. Armin laid his neck over Jean’s back. While massive, this body was strangely light. Armin felt even more fragile than usual. But if he was meant to take flight like this, he supposed that some sort of compensation had to be made. Thin limbs, hollow bones...

“Honestly? I have to agree with you,” Jean replied with a touch of chagrin, his hands braced against Armin underneath his wings to help him stay upright. “I don't think you could be trusted with walking in a straight line on your own.”

“ _I can so!_ ” he flustered, and reeled back, his neck bent in a backwards S like a snake readying the strike. “ _I only wander when I see something particularly interesting-- which may be quite often, I admit, but I can control myself if I have to do something important!_ ”

Jean snickered, and raised a knuckle to his lips. Armin blinked at him hopelessly.

“ _Why are you laughing?_ ”

“There's a bit of a disconnect going on here,” he answered, one eyebrow cocked. “It's weird to see something like you whine like a little kid. You look too... noble.”

Armin tilted his head in further confusion. Jean twirled his finger in the air in a “turn around” motion. Then he gestured for him to look at himself in the reflection pool.

“ _...Oh. I see._ ”

Armin quickly became engrossed in himself. He was like the statue, but in reality, a Kinshi was far more grandiose. He had lovely, wet eyes, and long, delicate eyelashes. His crest stood even more proudly in the air than it did in his human body. His close, scale-like feathers had a golden shimmer to them when he turned to look at them just so. His whip-long blue whiskers were dipping into the pond while he hunched over, but he didn't notice.

Jean wasn't wrong. There was a regal air to his appearance that couldn't be denied. He wasn't acting like something that looked like he did. He turned his neck over his own shoulder-- goodness, did he have a flexible neck now!-- and he spread out his long, decorative tail feathers so he could get a better view of them. Their eyes glittered like jewels.

Grisha and Eren looked noble and strong in their bird skins, and Mikasa was mysterious, like the night. But he was _beautiful._ He felt it far sharper than he even did in the brothel, where their elaborate makeup and heavy robe gilded a lily that should never have been plucked from the ground in the first place. There was little wonder why humans had fallen for his kind so many centuries ago.

All these uncomfortably conceited thoughts made him feel hot with shame. They conflicted with the self-image he had. He was too white, too pure. He remembered the folding screen in the third room. He remembered what the innkeep had called him when Jean took him to her counter. He didn't know what the word she said meant then, but he did now. It was the sort of word that made people look at him with pity. He retracted from his unseemly staring, and lifted his head to look back at Jean.

“ _Do I really deserve all this?_ ”

“What does anyone deserve?” Jean shrugged. “Sure, you're special. Nobody can deny that. But what you've gotten out of life is yours whether you want it or not. The good and the bad.”

Armin didn't quite understand. Did that mean that he equally deserved all of the things that had happened to him? Did he deserve to be used by so many men? Did he deserve to feel dirty? Did he deserve to be regarded with such awe and respect? Did he deserve to be entrusted with the task that had been laid before him?

A thought occurred to Armin. Did Jean mean what he said of everyone? Did he mean it for himself as well? Armin remembered “Naga's will.” There was no such thing as coincidence.

It wasn't a matter of who deserved what. It wasn't a matter of fault either. What had happened had happened, and everyone had to carry that weight. It was what made them who they were.

“ _...I'm sorry,_ ” Armin began, and Jean cocked his head. “ _I should have said it before, but I wasn't thinking. Everything that happened to you--_ ”

“Don't,” Jean cut him off, sharp as a knife. He meant it to be final, but Armin persisted.

“ _I never thought for a second where you might have come from, even when I should have. I should have wondered why you were alone. I should have wondered why you had to do what you said you had to do._ ”

“Would you stop it?” Jean raised his voice, and instantly regretted it as Armin flinched back. He sighed heavily and put a hand to his forehead in weariness. “Someone like you shouldn't be worrying about the petty little problems of someone like me.”

Those problems weren't little, or petty. Armin knew that. Jean had lost all his family and friends. Someone had sacrificed themselves for him. He even lost his connection to the earth, and the purpose of his people. It was everything. Literally everything had been taken from him. But pointing that out wouldn't make anything better. Not when he was still full of guilt.

“ _...If someone like me can have a purpose like this,_ ” Armin tried, uncertain of his train of logic, but he still wanted to try, for Jean, “ _then there has to be a reason why you're alive too._ ”

A stiff tremor jolted through Jean's shoulders. Armin's words had hit somewhere, though he wasn't sure exactly where. He hoped it wasn't a place that would wound him permanently.

“...Why is it that people have to load shit on me like this?” He sighed like there was something lodged in his throat. “I never wanted it, you know? I wanted to die with him. And then you. People like you come waltzing in and make me feel bad about everything I ever thought I'd do.”

“ _I don't know, exactly,_ ” Armin fumbled for his words, lost in his thoughts, “ _but... there was a time that I wanted to die too. I would have died. But you were the one that took the knife out of my hands._ ”

Jean paused. He regarded the space before him with feigned interest. He blinked softly. Then he took a deep breath, and gathered himself up., as though that breath was filling him with a new energy. He shook his head rather violently, and finally looked towards Armin again.

“It was a hairpin, actually,” he replied with a smirk that suited him far better than sorrow. “Are you already forgetting things? It's only been about a month. Should I be worried?”

“ _It was as good as a knife._ ” Armin fell back into the comfortable rhythm of what dialog with Jean normally felt like. “ _It was the sharpest thing they let me own._ ”

“I honestly shouldn't trust you with the one you have right now. You tried again the second you got it!”

“ _And you're the one that gave it to me._ ”

“True enough!” Jean nearly barked in laughter. “I guess that's my fault then.”

“ _You can trust me with it now, I promise._ ” Armin craned his neck forward, and rested his chin on Jean's shoulder. His whisker tickled against Jean's cheek. “ _I've no desire to put a scar on my throat. It's too pretty for that now._ ”

This time, Jean laughed for real. He patted Armin a little too roughly on the top of his fluffy head, but he didn't mind.

“Looks like you're starting to learn how jokes work. That's good. I was starting to think that you missed the deadline for growing a sense of humor or something.”

“ _I'm working on it,_ ” Armin replied, his crest lifted up in joy. “ _I'm glad you liked my first try._ ”

“It was pretty good.” Jean gave him one last pat, and retreated a foot or so. “But you can practice more later.”

Armin bobbed his head in another nod. He liked this Jean much better than the sad one, and he was glad he could bring his smile out again.

“ _I may need to do this thing that Grisha thinks I should do, but I intend to take you to your mountains too. You still want to do that, don't you?_ ”

“Yeah,” Jean answered. “I don't care what the other Mamkute think. I need to take him back to Duma's Maw. He deserved that much...”

“ _What was his name?_ ”

“Marco. He was my best friend.”

“ _Marco. Okay._ ” Armin dipped his head in respect. “ _Thank you, Marco, for bringing Jean here._ ”

“Oh, cut the sentimental crap.” Jean ran his fist under his nose and blinked a little too conspicuously, as though he were trying to hold something back. “I don't need it anymore. Let's just focus on the task at hand. We're probably gonna need our sleep for tomorrow, yeah?”

“ _I think I could sleep now,_ ” Armin agreed, “ _but err…_ ”

He lifted his wings and looked about himself, at a loss for words.

“ _Do you know how to make this stop?_ ”

\--

After a quick lesson from Jean about how to turn back into a more manageable form (A deep breath, a long exhale, relax your muscles and let go. Armin got it after the third or fourth try.) the two returned to where they had decided to sleep for the night. Armin had no trouble, and drifted off as soon as he had laid down. He woke up with the sun, as had become his habit since he begun traveling and camping.

He loved to watch it rise. It was reassuring. The cycle of day and night was something he didn't get to enjoy back at the brothel. They kept him in confusion on purpose. Now he took comfort in how the sun and moon circled in the sky, in the same place, at the same times, every day.

He stopped at the pool to wash his face in its clear waters. He didn't hear her approach, but when he wiped the water away from his eyes, he saw Mikasa standing behind him in its reflection. Armin jumped, his wings and crest fluffed up in surprise.

“...I'm sorry,” she murmured, although she didn't really seem to mean it. She had a half of one of the big, nectar-rich fruits that grew in the forest held out and offered towards him. Armin took it without a word, and tried to smooth down his fluster. “They always tell me that I'm too quiet.”

“You are very quiet,” Armin agreed, and took a small bite of his fruit. It was hard to eat without getting juice all over his chin, “but I don't think it's entirely your fault. I'm not very aware of my surroundings either.”

Mikasa sat down next to him. She had a way of looking comfortable no matter where she was. Or at least, she didn't seem to be bothered by anything.

“You talk like Grisha does.”

“Do I?” Armin canted his head, and Mikasa nodded. “What do you mean by that?”

“You have a lot of words.”

Armin wasn't sure if he really had a lot of words, but Mikasa definitely didn't have as many as a normal person. Even he could tell that relations weren't her forte. But he was raised to be delicate about the faults of others. He didn't say anything like that to her, and instead enjoyed her silent company as they both ate their separate halves of the same piece of fruit.

Once the sun had fully cleared the horizon, Jean joined them. He and Armin exchanged pleasantries, both reminiscing of the night in the way that they looked at each other. He didn't speak to Mikasa, though he stole plenty of side-eyed glances of her as he ate his own breakfast of jerky. He once told Armin he couldn't start his day without a little meat. Armin was fine with that. After a lifetime of rice and vegetables, he often found it too greasy and heavy for him to stomach in the morning.

“Ah. It looks as though I'm a little late.”

Grisha finally approached once they had finished their breakfasts, his son in tow, from the grove of tree-houses. Eren was stretching and yawning, his wings spread out wide. So much for the early bird taking the worm.

“You're not,” Armin politely replied. “I like to get up with the sun.”

“A habit we should all take up,” Grisha said in kind. “I hope that you slept well.”

“It was a very peaceful night.”

Armin didn't mean to divulge a word of what had been said between Jean and himself the night before. That was personal, and private. He knew when words were meant to stay in the room they were said in.

“Then I won't dawdle or tarry about with my intentions. Have you given thought to the proposition I gave you yesterday?”

“Yes, I've thought on it.” Armin dusted his lap off in a cursory way, even though he wasn't dirty at all. Muscle memory was hard to break. Then he stood up. He wanted to be as equal to Grisha as he could when he made his intentions clear. “And I accept your mission-- with a couple of conditions.”

Grisha couldn't help how his crest perked up in interest, and he nodded for Armin to continue.

“I want Jean to come with me,” he motioned back to the Mamkute, who was licking salty residue off his fingers, “and I want to go to his mountain. Duma's Maw. So he can throw his Dragonstone into the lava like he meant to when he rescued me.”

Eren was obviously, flatly annoyed. He took a step forward, but Grisha shook his head, and ushered him back. The young Hawkskin crossed his arms over his chest impatiently.

“If you want him with you, then so be it. I can map out your path so you pass through the Duma mountains. And is that all that you want?”

“Yes, that's all.”

“Very good then.” Grisha brightened up once he had Armin's spoken agreement. “Very good... Then, when you are ready to leave the temple, I would like to take you to where I live, with my children here, so I can begin to prepare you for your journey.”

Leave. Yes, he would have to leave here eventually, wouldn't he? Armin felt a reluctance tug at his chest, as it would with anyone who was ready to leave their home. And this _was_ his home, even if only for a couple of days. It was the green temple of his dreams, where the spirit of his people lingered. He felt the ground itself grow warm underneath his feet, as if it were aware of him, and who he was.

But, if things went as they all hoped, he'd be able to return here someday. Hopefully with some of his own in tow. He still believed that they were out there somewhere, hiding, waiting for the right moment to show themselves to the world.

“It's okay. We can go now.”

\--

It took a full day of travelling on foot to make it to Grisha's home. Mikasa made it look fast when she first took the trip because she could fly. Without that advantage, the forest was like an adversary. It tripped and mislaid them at every opportunity. And it was doing its job correctly. This was what kept men away from its heart.

“We lived somewhere a little less... difficult,” Grisha admitted as they trudged through the undergrowth, which even he had trouble with, “while Eren's mother was still alive. But now, this is the safest option.”

As night fell, they finally came to a behemoth tree, rather like the ones back at the temple’s grove. Its roots grew wild and its trunk was impossibly wide, a veritable baobab. But there was no entrance at ground-level. Armin had to climb onto Grisha's back, after he took his hawk form, to get inside. He told his son to help Jean, but the two bickered like wet weasels in a burlap sack. Mikasa cut in and carried Jean herself...in her talons. Jean scrambled into the trees hollow looking like he had just seen his whole life flash before his eyes.

The interior was well lived in. A steep, narrow staircase ran along the walls in an upwards spiral, reaching all the way to the top of the tree. Shelves were carved into the circular wooden walls, stacked full with books and scrolls, bottles and packages of who-knows-what, dried bits of this and that, all organized with some kind of chaotic system of logic.

At first, it was too dark to see inside. Mikasa whispered something Armin didn't understand, sibilant and hissing, and the shadows themselves retreated from the walls and the air as if they were alive. They left a gentle glow in their wake, like starlight. It was bright enough that they wouldn't trip over each other, and Eren began to light candles with matches so they could see anything put before them more clearly.

Seating was mish mashed at best. Cushions (that were conspicuously stuffed with huge bits of down) and stools were strewn about the floor, around a large, low circular table at the very bottom of the tree. Eren and Mikasa sat where-ever they felt like, and Armin and Jean carefully followed suit. They made sure not to break anything with their steps.

Grisha was in a whirlwind of gathering all the supplies he thought he would need to explain his mission to someone entirely ignorant of the geography and history of their own land. He would pull a book out from his shelf, quickly examine it, mutter to himself, shake or nod his head, and move on in a flutter. His children seemed perfectly accustomed to this sort of behavior, but it made Armin nervous.

“Don't worry about dad,” Eren said. He'd picked up on how Armin was feeling. “He gets like this sometimes. He's just got something important on his mind is all.”

“Very important!” Grisha called from further up the tree. “Which reminds me; Eren could you ring the tintinabar and wait for a Pooka to come? We'll need to get supplies ready immediately.”

“Sure,” Eren called back, and got up to leave the tree. Soon after, Armin heard a bell chime with a lilting melody that lingered in the air like little, glimmering crystals. He looked to Jean for answers.

“The Pooka are Catskin,” he explained. “They don't live in groups or have any land of their own. They're more like a merchant's guild. They give their customers magic bells so they can be called whenever and wherever they're needed, and they have a way of appearing and disappearing that only they know. They've got a fair amount of goodwill with Kin, but they'll rob you blind if you let them, so never agree on the price they give you for anything.”

“You'll see for yourself soon enough.” Grisha returned to them, and unloaded a huge armful of materials onto the center table like a tiny avalanche. “First, let's have a little geography lesson.”

He spread out a large map, and pushed books aside as he did so. Armin had never seen one like it before.

“This is a map of the entire continent. I've broken it up into the land of men, and then Pagan Lands, then divided up into further territories depending on the tribes that live there. Major land formations are included. It's not the most detailed, but it will have to do.”

Armin leaned forward to get a better look. He quickly found the Walled City, the Kitsune Valley, and the old Kinshi Temple. They were surprisingly close together. It took them a little more than two weeks to walk from the valley to the temple. He kept that distance in mind, and then began to plot out further distances between other points on the map...

“If I'm to cross through all of these places you've marked, and stop at the Duma Mountains--” which he noted were at the northernmost edge of the map-- “my, it would take nearly a year!”

“You have a keen eye for perspective,” Grisha seemed pleased. “Yes, a year would be about right, if you travel on foot. Which you will have to, if you want to bring Jean with you.”

That was right. Armin might be able to learn to fly, but Jean could not. Even if he had his Dragonstone, he still couldn't fly. His wings hadn't matured yet, and didn't look like they would be ready for some time.

“I still want him with me,” Armin said firmly, and Grisha did not question him.

“Of course. Time is of the essence, but your safety is just as important. It would be best for you to go with an experienced traveler. A Mamkute is no better partner for such a journey.”

“You wanted Eren and I to go with him,” Mikasa quietly added, and Armin's crest perked in interest.

“Is that true?”

“Ah, Mikasa...” Grisha shook his head in bemused chagrin. “I can always count on you to get to the root of matters, can't I?”

She didn't look ashamed in the slightest. She was playing with the string around her neck as though she hadn't said anything important at all.

“Yes,” he continued, “if you wouldn't mind the extra company, I'd like my children to go with you. For your safety, as I've said, but also because... Well, I think you need to be with your own kind. They may not be Kinshi, but they are still Birdskin. They can teach you things about yourself that you need to learn.”

“I'd be happy to have them,” Armin replied with humility, “and I agree with you, there is still much I need to learn and and I don't have enough time to learn it. But are you sure? That would leave you here alone.”

“Someone needs to keep an eye on the Temple. Who knows, perhaps your appearance will be the first of many more?” He chuckled to himself. “And I am an old man. I shouldn't be going about on adventures at my age. Best to leave that to the next generation.”

Armin felt his melancholy, and with it a pang of sympathy. He never wanted to be alone again. But Grisha was ready to make sacrifices for his cause, and he had to respect that.

“Dad!” Eren called from outside. “Thomas is here! Should I bring him in?”

“Yes, please,” Grisha replied. “We have business to attend to.”

In a moment, Eren flew up to their front stoop, a hooded man on his back. He leapt off deftly, like he had done so many times before.

Armin regarded him with open curiosity. A Pooka was a more subtle creature than he would have guessed. A pair of blonde, cat-shaped ears poked up through his hood, a slim tail weaving behind him. Otherwise, he looked like any other man. His only implements were a shepherd's crook with a bell fitted into the curve, and a large bag thrown over his back.

“Oi, Grisha.” He approached with an open, sharp-toothed grin. “Good to have your business again. Will we be having the usual trade, or...”

Thomas' eyes (which Armin just realized had a cat's pupils) wandered over to Armin. His ears perked and his tail pointed towards the ceiling.

“By the hide o' Sidhe himself! Is that a Kinshi?”

Armin flattened himself down, unsure of how to reply. Grisha deftly took the attention away from him, engaging Thomas in important business. The Pooka couldn't resist talk of coin, but his eyes would wander over to Armin every now and then, still very much aware of his presence.

“The old man brought him in on purpose,” Jean spoke lowly into his ear. “Word spreads fast through the Pooka. It won't be long before the whole of the Pagan Lands knows that a Kinshi has come back to life.”

“Is that a good thing?” Armin whispered back to him.

“I don't think you need to be worried. But it'll catch people's attention. Might stir things up for the first time in a long while.”

And stirring things up was the point of his journey. He needed to get Kin to do something they'd never done before. It might be good to start with letting the world know that a miracle had happened.

\--

The next three days were a flurry of preparations. Grisha and Armin cloistered themselves with all of his books and the old Hawkskin did his best to teach him of all the tribes he'd have to meet. He memorized their names first. The Centaur Horseskin, the Garm Wolfskin, the Taguel Rabbitskin, and the Lutra Otterskin.

He got a cursory lesson on their respective cultures and histories, important gestures, things he should and shouldn't say. It reminded him of the lessons he had at the brothel, but now he would be using them for good instead of the profit of a few perverse men.  He learned quickly and eagerly, and soaked up Grisha's knowledge like a sponge, encouraged by his kind words and attentions.

And while the Pooka were able to meet most of their needs in the way of supplies, there were still some things that had to be gathered and carefully arranged. Eren and Jean found the raw ingredients in between their attempts to kill each other, and Mikasa worked at readying the salves and brewing the potions. There were medicines to treat most maladies that might occur while on the road, as well as brews to give strength, fight the cold or heat, repel rain, and a variety of other conveniences.

Since they were likely to run out of most of these things over the months, Grisha had their own tintinabar prepared, to call the Pooka whenever they needed. It was costly, to the point where Jean offered some of his silver to help cover the amount, but Grisha insisted that the expense was his alone. He'd gladly empty his coffers to ensure their safe journey. It was his selfish request to begin with.

Armin was expecting an emotional farewell on the day of their departure, but Eren and Mikasa were surprisingly stoic. Eren was ready to go and finally _do_ something about the atrocities that had been committed against his family as a child, and Mikasa only seemed interested in him. Grisha embraced them both, but it was easy to tell from his expression that he had nothing but confidence in his children, as though he had been preparing them for this possibility their whole lives. It was likely that he actually _had_ , considering their circumstances.

The four of them looked to be a proper group when they set off, bags hitched over their shoulders and packs strapped to their belts. They left the forest without fanfare or lingering goodbyes. Once they had escaped the tangled overgrowth, Armin let Eren and Mikasa gain some ground as he paused to take in the countryside as it unfolded before him. A strong breeze gathered behind him, and blew his freshly-cut hair about his face.

“You ready?”

Jean never left his side. He waited for Armin to nod before he continued.

“Yes. Let's go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that that’s over with…
> 
> Here are my intentions for this fic going forward:
> 
> First off, I want to go back. I want to return to earlier chapters and polish this thing until all the dings and dents are totally smoothed over. Really edit it and make it cohesive, before I go onto what I consider the second part of the narrative. I want this to be novel-worthy stuff.
> 
> SO! I’ve opened a [Google doc of the ENTIRE FIC](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1izv_EfMgmHRiEkc9nk_nGxpvvgr-MOSHKpDdUrIOTa0/edit?usp=sharing), from beginning to end, with commenting enabled for all visitors. Is there anything you’d like to see? Anything that bothers you, or you think is off? Go for it! I’d like to know what you think! But to start off, here are some issues I’m aware of already.
> 
> -Lack of plot cohesion. Like I said, this has taken me a year to write in total, and it’s evolved a lot since I started. It’s left a lot of plot holes and inconsistencies in its wake.
> 
> -Characterization. It’s not as steady as I’d like. 
> 
> -Lack of stuffing. Basically, this just needs to be longer. It needs more padding, so the actions of the characters don't seem so sudden. There needs to be more development to support their decisions.
> 
> However, don’t feel pressured to help. I’ve already got friends, family and co-workers looking over this thing, so I’m not hurting for another pair of eyes. I’m just making this open to everyone because I appreciate any kind of support, and you guys know best what you want to see. And suggestions are just suggestions, so you don’t have to worry about being right or wrong about anything.
> 
> As reference, I’ve drawn [really shitty map](https://ibb.co/h7fedk) to help anyone visualize the journey that’s about to take place!
> 
> Once I’m done with this mass editing, I’ll update the whole fic at once, along with a new chapter, so you’ll be getting something more to go with it!
> 
> As always, I 'm on Tumblr @ [Otterbeans](http://otterbeans.tumblr.com/) if you wish to contact me personally! I really enjoy talking to people interested in my fic, and befriending other writers, so please don't hesitate to hit me up if you'd like!
> 
> See you soon, I hope!


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